


Rose From The Foam

by Project_Icarus



Category: Uncharted (Video Games)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2019-03-19
Packaged: 2019-03-30 03:09:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 53,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13941306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Project_Icarus/pseuds/Project_Icarus
Summary: The scholars laugh at you, your partner betrays you, and you are very close to rock bottom. Your last chance for glory is in the hands of Samuel Drake, professional thief and treasure hunter.





	1. Chapter 1

** You **

You put up your umbrella and step out of the university and into the pouring Seattle rain. Your heels click-clack as you walk forlornly down the sopping sidewalk. A piece of trash is picked up by the wind and it dances gaily along the gutter before succumbing to the flow and getting sucked into the drain. You sympathise.

_Well, this day can’t get much worse._

You’ve just been laughed out of a meeting by archaeologists for the third time in your life, and it stings just as much as it did the first time. You’re on to something, you know you are, you just need the funding to actually go out and _find_ it. You sigh, listening to the pitter-patter of the rain on your black umbrella, and try to figure out how you’re going to tell Jackson that you were unsuccessful yet again. He’s been your research partner for the last two years, and recently he’s been getting antsy. His reputation as a historian is suffering as of late and it’s mostly because of his association with you. You promised him all of the respect and riches he deserves when this is all over, and it seems he’s eager to cross that finishing line.

_Mythical objects are only mythical until somebody finds them. If only those stuffed shirts at the university would agree._

As for you, you just want it to be known that you were _right_. You have dreams about that little plaque on the museum display, ‘This artefact was discovered and donated by Y/N L/N’. Only, now you have to go home and tell Jackson that the day you’re both yearning for is now a lot further off than you were hoping. Your heart is truly heavy as you dawdle your way down the street. Cars zip past you, splashing tidal waves of dirty water onto the path, and you do your best to stay out of the way. You wouldn’t be too surprised if you got soaked though, it really is that kind of day.  
Finally you make it to your apartment building, and you shake your umbrella in the doorway before heading inside. The floor is wet and muddy and you do your best not to slip, this pantsuit is the only expensive piece of clothing you own. You get to the elevator and push the button. When nothing happens, you push it again. Then again.

_Oh god, please no._

“Elevator’s out of order I’m afraid,”

You turn to the caretaker who’s mopping the floor. “No,” you groan, “are you serious?”

He nods, “You’re welcome to keep pushing the button if you like, but the engineer won’t be here until tomorrow,”

You sigh, “It’s okay. It’s not like I’m up on the tenth floor or anything,”

Actually, you _are_ on the tenth floor, and you drag yourself around to the stairwell. Luckily you’re reasonably fit, but even so your legs are burning by the time you’re halfway up. When you reach the tenth floor you’re panting and sweating, and your feet hurt in the stupid heels you decided to wear today. Between the rain and the unexpected workout, your hair is a mess and you can feel your makeup running. You’re really in a foul mood by the time you get to your apartment and start rooting around in your purse for the key.  
You pause, listening. There’s someone inside your apartment, you can hear them moving around in there. You strain your ears and you hear a familiar voice- it’s Jackson. You push the door open and freeze.  
Your tiny apartment is full of men you’ve never seen before and they’re ransacking the place. All of your furniture has been upturned and your personal belongings are scattered all over the hardwood floor. Some of the men are boxing up your things, others seem to just be there to make a mess. Jackson is standing in the centre of the chaos with his back to you.

“What the hell?” you squeak. No one so much as looks in your direction.

“Ah, Y/N, I was wondering when you’d show up. Come in and close the door,” he says far too calmly, not turning around.

You slam the door behind you and march over to him, wanting to know why he’s doing nothing to stop the pillaging of your home, when you see that he’s flicking through the pages of your private journal. He looks up at you and smirks.

“You’re an incredibly lonely person. Did you know that?”

“Give me that,” you snatch it from him, “and tell me what these goons are doing here,”

“They’re just doing some heavy lifting for me,” he drawls, crossing his arms.

_No, no, no. He wouldn’t._ Dread starts to fill you up like some heavy gruel, “What are you doing, Jackson?”

“I’m taking your research materials. Your papers, your computer, your maps, all of it,”

You frown in utter confusion, “What? Why? Where are you taking them?” You look on in horror as a particularly scary-looking man stomps past you and carries a box of your things from the room.

“Well, I guess there’s no easy way to say this. I’m cutting you out,” Jackson says simply.

He can’t be serious. You blink a few times, anger beginning to replace your uncertainty, “Cutting me out? But this is _my_ expedition!” you try to reign yourself in, on the off-chance that this is all some elaborate ruse, but you’re dangling off the edge of fury.

“Not anymore,” he says, shrugging.

“You can’t do this!” you cry.

“Just be a good girl and go sit down, huh? Let the boys finish their job,”

“And just what the hell makes you think that I’m just going to let you walk out of here with my life’s work?” you say, bristling with rage.

In answer, he lifts one side of his leather jacket, revealing a gun resting in its holster there. You almost laugh.

“What, you’re going to shoot me?”

He scowls, reaching for the pistol. “Don’t test me, Y/N,”

“Okay, okay,” you raise your hands in defeat, “you’ve made your point,” you’ve never been held at gunpoint before, but you don’t think you’d like it much. You don’t really want to find out. You pull a seat out from the pine table in the middle of the room and slump into it, huffing. This morning, this table was covered in your wealth of research materials. Now it’s a farmer’s field during a famine.

“You don’t mind, do you?” Jackson says, picking up your purse from where it sits by your feet and, before you can answer, he tips it out onto the table. “Let’s see here,” he hums, going over the contents, “lipstick, tic-tac’s, mirror, tampons, birth control,” he opens up your wallet and whistles, “funds a little tight this month, huh?”

You sigh, ready for this ordeal to be over, “Why are you doing this? We’re supposed to be partners. I just need more time,”

He ignores you, still sifting through your personal effects.

“It’s taken me _years_ to collect all of that information,” you groan, looking around at your destroyed apartment. You spot one of the men rifling through your underwear drawer, “You’re not going to find anything of interest in there!” you yell.

The man looks over at you, grinning, before pulling the drawer our from the dresser and emptying it all over the floor. You seethe silently as your delicates are thrown about for all to see.

“Well,” Jackson says, clapping his hands together, finally done with your bag, “it looks like we’ve got everything we came for,”

You look up at him miserably, “So, what now?”

“Now you sit tight, maybe clean up this mess, and you forget all about this,”

“And if I don’t?”

He pats his side where the gun is concealed, “If you mention a word of this to anyone, or if I find hide or hair of you in Cyprus, I’ll put a bullet in you. Do you understand?”

“You’re going to Cyprus?” you say before you can help yourself.

“Answer my question, Y/N,”

You swallow, “Perfectly,” you say through gritted teeth.

“Good. Do take care,” he says, and follows his cronies out of the door without a backward glance.

You sit there, breathing heavily for a few moments, before getting up and shutting the door quietly. You calmly walk around the room, taking in the destruction, before violently kicking over your floor lamp.

“God damn it!” you scream, stamping on the shade and smashing the bulb for good measure. Angry tears prick your eyes, but you’re not going to give into them just yet.

You meander through the wreckage, trampling on books, video games, and the contents of your cutlery drawer, on your way to your bed. Or, what _was_ your bed this morning. The mattress is now on the floor, all of the sheets stripped off and in a heap nearby. You flop down on the mattress, the cogs in your brain whirring.  
Like an epiphany, it comes to you. You need to act quickly.  
You spring up and rush back to the table and begin pawing through the detritus from your purse, desperately hoping that the business card is still there.  
_Please don’t have taken it, please.  
_ Joyfully you spot the little white rectangle, and you pick it up only to cringe. It’s the ‘Bikini Inspector’ card your friend gave you at a party once. You didn’t even know you were still carrying that thing around. You throw it aside and continue your search. There’s no way in hell you’re going to let that bastard steal your glory.  
_I have put my whole life into this, you’re not going to take it from me that easily you stupidly-tall, floppy-haired fuck._  
“Found you!” you clutch the business card triumphantly in your hand. It’s the right one this time, ‘Chloe Frazer – Treasure Hunter’ is emblazoned across the front in black ink, along with the number that you never thought you’d actually have to call. You grab the phone and begin dialling, your heart thumping as you wait for the call to connect.

“You’ve reached Chloe Frazer. I don’t answer calls from people I don’t know, so you’re going to have to give me a good reason to call you back. Go.”

There’s a beep.

“Um, okay,” you fumble, thinking that maybe you should have planned out what you wanted to say, “Hi, Chloe, it’s Y/N L/N. We met about a month ago at the gala at the Indian Museum of Culture, you gave me your business card. Well, you were right, it turns out I am in need of your services after all. I’m completely in the shit here, please call me back,”

 

 

 

** Sam **

Sam takes a drag on his cigarette, gazing out over the backyards of suburbia. The sky’s just starting to turn a dusky purple, the sun throwing orange rays over the horizon as it dips out of view. There’s a dog off somewhere barking into the warm evening air, and he can hear the kids playing rowdily down the street. He’s insanely happy for Nathan, of course, but he really hopes he doesn’t get fenced in by those white pickets any time soon.  
He’s been visiting his brother for a few days and it’s been perfectly nice, but he’s really starting to get the itch in his blood to move on. He’s never been good at sitting still for very long.  _How long can I keep doing this?_

“You all right out here, smoky?” Nathan says, coming out from the house to sit on the porch with his brother.

“Yeah, of course,” Sam flicks the ash from his cigarette into the little plant pot Elena provided for him.

“You’ve been pretty quiet tonight,”

“I have?”

“Yeah. Something on your mind?”

Sam takes a long drag and exhales slowly before he answers, “Actually- nah, forget it,”

“Hey, what is it?”

“It’s nothing,”

“Come on, you can tell me,”

Sam sighs, “It’s just- you remember when you were talking about feeling uh, kind of empty? When the adventure’s over,” he trails off.

Nathan nods, “Yeah, I remember. Why, you starting to get what I’m talking about?”

Sam shrugs, “I dunno, a little. I mean, I’m definitely not ready to settle down, I know that much. I’ve still got an adventure or two left in me, but maybe I’m just feeling my age or something,”

“Well, if you want my advice,” Nathan says, “go on your adventures. When it’s time to hang it up, you’ll know,”

“I can’t believe I’m getting life advice from my baby brother,” Sam shakes his head ruefully.

“Don’t pretend like I’m not the smart one,”

“Guess that makes me the handsome one, huh?”

Nathan scoffs, “Whatever helps you sleep at night. Don’t stay out here too long, all right?”

“All right,” Sam says as he watches Nathan go back inside.

Sam sits there for a little while longer, and just as he starts to think about joining his brother in the house, his phone starts to vibrate in his pocket. He reaches for it and checks the caller ID. It’s Chloe.

“Hey there, gorgeous, just can’t stay away, can you?”

Chloe chuckles, “Yeah, yeah, well I’m gonna stop you right there, buttercup. I’ve got a job for you,”

He perks up at that, “Oh yeah? What you got for me?”

“Do you remember meeting Y/N L/N at the Museum gala last month? She’s an archaeologist”

“I dunno, what was she wearing?” he smirks.

Chloe sighs, “You men are truly pigs. I don’t know what she was wearing. Remember her? She had that partner who was stupidly tall?”

He thinks about it, “Yeah, I guess. What about her?”

“Well, Stupidly Tall just full on stabbed her in the back, stole all of her research and is now heading off to nab the treasure out from under her,”

“So she wants me to get to it first? I can do that,”

“Actually she wants to be the one to discover it, but she needs some help. She says it might get violent. Listen, she’s a total virgin to this business, she’s going to need someone to watch her back,”

Sam laughs, “You want me to deflower her?”

“You know what I mean, Sam,”

He hums in thought, “So I’m going to be babysitting some chick while probably getting shot at? Yeah, sign me up,”

“The pay will be good,” Chloe adds.

“What kind of treasure we searching for anyway?”

“I can’t believe I didn’t tell you before, this is the best part. She’s looking for Aphrodite’s magic girdle,”

There’s a beat before he answers, “Her what now?”

“Yeah, apparently she had a magic girdle that made her more irresistible to men,”

“No shit. So uh, is this Y/N chick really ugly or something? Why are we looking for a magic man-magnet?”

“No, no! She says there’s a physical representation of the girdle, made out of precious metals and jewels. _That’s_ what you’ll be looking for,”

“That sounds more like it! So what _is_ she like, is she hot? I really can't remember her,”

“She’s a little young for you, tiger, but whatever floats your boat. So, what can I tell her?”

He sighs, “Tell her I’ll do it,” he lights up another cigarette, “wait, where am I going?”

“How soon can you get to Cyprus?”


	2. Chapter 2

** You **

_I’m out of my mind._

You’re sitting in an economy seat that’s probably going to give you tetanus, in a rickety-ass plane from an airline you’ve never heard of. It’s all you could afford last minute, and even this almost drained your bank account. You’re wearing an oversized grey hooded sweatshirt with the hood pulled up and a pair of black-rimmed hipster glasses. It’s the closest thing you have to a disguise.

_Will Jackson really kill me if he sees me?_

He seemed pretty serious yesterday in your apartment, but you’ve never known the man to be violent. Your eyes dart around the plane, checking out the other passengers, looking for a anyone who might be a threat. Even in your current state of paranoia, you can’t see anyone suspicious, and no one is paying you any mind. There’s a mother with a screaming baby a couple rows behind you and the noise is already making your right eye twitch. Your butt’s gone to sleep beneath you and you’ve only been in the air for half an hour. The next twenty hours are going to be _awful._ You settle in for what you’re sure is going to be the worst, most uncomfortable flight of your life.

 

_That was the worst, most uncomfortable flight of my life._

You’re sore, sleep deprived, and jetlagged. As beautiful as Cyprus is, for now it can fuck right off while you get some sleep. You’re tired and irritable when you get to your hotel, a shabby little place that you hope counts as ‘off the radar’. You check in under a false name and then pull your suitcase along to your room. It’s 1pm here but you’re body thinks that it’s 4am so you’re just going to have a little nap. You unlock the door and take in your little hotel room. The walls are an uninspired magnolia and the beige carpet is rough to the touch. There’s a double bed, a little table, and a door that leads to the bathroom, and that’s it. You heft your case onto the table and collapse onto the bed. You kick off your shoes and take out your phone, setting an alarm for 5pm. You’re meeting this Samuel Drake at 6pm and you want to at least shower first. And with that, you’re out like a light.

 

“Huh? What?” Your eyes snap open at the annoying tone of your alarm.

_No way, it’s only been like five minutes._

You swipe the alarm away and groan, rubbing your sore eyes. Somehow you feel even worse than before. You’re not even sure what year it is right now.

_Welp, that’ll have to tide me over until tonight._

You roll off the bed and slump your way to the bathroom, yawning and feeling like you had to pry your eyes back open after every blink. You take off your clothes and climb into the shower, happy to wash the airplane smell off of you. Upon climbing out again you feel slightly more awake, and you wrap yourself up in a towel and head back into the bedroom. You open your suitcase and look through your clothes, trying to decide what you should wear. You wonder which of your t-shirt-and-jeans combos will make you look the most please-help-me-find-some-treasure-before-my-asshole-of-an-ex-partner-y. In the end you decide there’s not much in it and go for a forest green t-shirt and some straight-leg jeans in a dark wash. You slip into some flip-flops and sunglasses and your tourist disguise is complete. You’d like to do your hair and makeup but you just can’t be bothered. Even your bones are tired.

You leave your room and head to the elevator, going down to the hotel bar. You order a white wine spritzer and take a seat at a table for two by the window. You push your sunglasses up onto your head and take a look around the room. The walls are a warm terracotta, and the floor is paved with grey tile. The dark wood tables and chairs are pretty rickety, but everything seems clean. There are several other patrons, a middle aged couple sit together at the bar, and a few tourists sit around the other tables, drinking, talking, and laughing. You relax a bit, it doesn’t look like Jackson has found you just yet.  
The evening is warm your damp hair is sticking to the back of your neck. You drum your fingers on the tabletop with one hand while you check your phone with the other, making sure that you’ve blocked your location.  
You look up when you hear someone enter the bar. It’s a man, in his forties probably, wearing the most ridiculous green Hawaiian shirt you’ve ever seen.

_Whew. Someone call the fashion police._

You snicker to yourself and take a sip of your drink, watching him. He orders a beer and then turns around to survey the room. His eyes meet yours and you flush, quickly looking away. You hope he didn’t hear you laughing at him. You chance a look up and you’re startled to see he’s coming towards you.

_Oh, crap._

“Y/N?” he says when he reaches your table.

“Mr. Drake?” You almost-splutter, recognising him at last. You remember meeting him at the gala, but you’re pretty sure that the two of you didn’t speak two words to each other. He was dressed much better then, too.

“Call me Sam,” he says, taking the seat opposite you.

“I almost didn’t recognise you,” you say to break the ice, “the tourist disguise is spot on,”

He looks at you weirdly, “What tourist disguise?”

You laugh awkwardly, “The shirt,” you say, gesturing towards him.

He looks down at himself and then back at you in confusion, “What’s wrong with my shirt?”

_Oh, wow. Okay._

“It’s nothing,” you cringe, “actually, I hear Hawaiian shirts are making a comeback,”

_Nope, can’t seem to stop talking._

He looks at you for a few seconds before breaking into laughter. You blink at him, unsure, your face heating up.

“I’m just messing with ya, Y/N,” he chuckles, “Chloe said you’d be nervous,”

You sigh in relief, a little stung from the joke, “She was right,” you knock back some more of your drink, “I have no idea what I’m doing,”

He smiles, “Well, relax, all right? That’s why I’m here,”

You can’t help but smile in return.  
So this is the guy. He seems normal enough. Awful fashion sense aside, he looks like he’ll be able to keep you safe on this endeavour. He’s strong and lean, and he looks like he’s seen a few scuffles; his face, though not bad to look at, is the face of a man who’s been through some shit. There are some serious bags under his hazel eyes and there’s a scar on his left temple. The totally ratchet prison tattoo he has on his neck just brings the whole image together nicely. You just hope he’s not going to tease you again, you’re on edge enough already.

“So,” you begin, clasping your hands together, “how much did Chloe tell you?”

Sam looks up at the ceiling as he thinks back, “She said you’re looking for Aphrodite’s magic girdle, which I didn’t even know was a thing,”

You nod, you love talking about this, it puts you at ease, “Yes, supposedly made for her by her husband Hephaestus, depending on the myth you read,”

“He was the god’s blacksmith, right?”

“You know your Greek mythology,” you’re pleasantly surprised. A smile creeps onto your face.

“It’s not really my forte,” Sam says, shrugging, “but I had plenty of time to brush up on the gods and goddesses during the flight,”

You hope he had a better flight than you did. You’re about to ask out of politeness when he speaks again.

“Hey, I have a question. Why would Hephaestus make something for his wife that makes her more irresistible to men?”

You chuckle, “Well, the stories say that it accentuated her breasts. It seems men have been obsessed with women’s chests since time immemorial,”

Sam laughs along with you, “I can believe that,”

You swear his eyes flick down to your chest very briefly and you clear your throat nervously, “So, we’ll need a plan of attack for tomorrow,” you say.

He nods, “Yeah, where are we going?”

“The ruins of the Temple of Aphrodite are right here in Paphos. I want to go and look around. My theory is that there’s a crypt under the ruins and that there’s a statue there, presumably wearing the girdle. I have no idea how we’re going to get under there but we can think about that once you’ve seen the place,”

“How do you know there’s a crypt?”

“There are letters of correspondence between members of the old Cult of Aphrodite, talking about her ‘idol beneath her home in Paphos’. I’ve read all of the letters a hundred times over and everything has led me to believe that they’re talking about the temple,”

“So how come you’ve not found it already?”

You frown, remembering the scornful laughs of the professors at the university, “I never had the funding. To go digging around a historical site like this, you need concrete proof. My hunch just isn’t enough,”

He takes a sip of his beer, mulling over all you’ve said. “So how come you haven’t given up? Most people would, in your position,”

You shake your head, “No way. I’ve put my entire adult life into this. My reputation is in the gutter because of this. If I don’t see this through to the end then I’ll have nothing,”

He meets your eyes and you see a deep understanding there. He nods, “Don’t worry, this is what I’m good at. I’ll help you find it,”

“Thank you,” you say earnestly.

_When he’s looking at me all intense like this, he’s kind of handsome._

 

 

** Sam **

Sam drains his beer. “All right, you should go get some shut-eye. We’ve got a busy day tomorrow,”

Y/N nods and then as if on cue, stifles a yawn. “I could really go for a small coma right about now,” she says.

He laughs softly, “Oh, I know that feeling. I’ll meet you in the dining room for breakfast at eight, then we’ll head out,”

“Okay, I’ll see you in the morning,” she says, standing and stretching. She holds out her hand, “It’s been great meeting you, I have a good feeling about this,”

He shakes her hand, “The pleasure’s all mine. Now get some sleep,”

He heads out of the bar into the sticky night air. He’s looking forward to tomorrow, to getting back out there in the field. It’s probably going to be a lot more tame than what he’s used to, but maybe that’s a good thing. There’s always the threat of the deceitful ex-partner and his men to spice things up, but Sam’s not too worried about some bookish historian.  
Y/N seems nice enough. She’s definitely passionate about her work, and he can respect that. She’s easy on the eyes, too. Not that he’s going to go there, though, he is a professional after all. There’s also the fact that she’s like half his age.

_Man, I feel old._

He lights up a cigarette. He wonders if he’ll need a gun tomorrow. He’s going to bring one anyway, but maybe he won’t have to use it. He laughs to himself, he has a feeling that she’d shit herself if she heard a gun go off. He flicks his cigarette, thinking. He realises he’s actually _hoping_ for something to go wrong tomorrow, to have a little excitement. If this is going to be his last adventure, he wants it to be a memorable one.

_Is this what a midlife crisis feels like?_


	3. Chapter 3

** You **

You check yourself in the bathroom mirror before going down to breakfast. Today’s going to be a real scorcher, you can tell, so you’ve gone with some jean shorts and a black tank top. Some gladiator sandals complete the look, your feet will be able to breathe and they’re just slightly more practical than your flip-flops. For makeup you’ve gone minimal, anything more would sweat right off your face, but when you woke up this morning you looked like you’d risen from the grave so you needed to do some damage control. You pull your hair up and off your neck, tying it into a ponytail, slather on some sunblock, and you’re all set.  
You head off down the stairs and into the dining room, where the tables have been set for breakfast. You spot Sam straight away, in a very dapper blue Hawaiian shirt, sipping a coffee. You approach him, excitement in your gut. Today’s the day.

“Good morning,” you say, sitting opposite him.

He looks up from his coffee and smiles, “Good morning. How did you sleep?”

“Like a log,” you pour yourself a coffee from the pot, “I didn’t think I would, I thought I’d be too nervous,”

“I told you, relax. I’ve got your back,”

“I’m still too excited to eat, but I appreciate it,” you drink your coffee and look around the room, people watching. You see a young couple come back from the buffet table with their breakfasts and you’re actually glad you’re not eating. You’ll go somewhere else for dinner.

Sam follows your gaze and pulls a face. “Yeah, uh, I know what you mean,”

You laugh in agreement. “So, I thought we’d take the bus to the temple. There’s one that hits all of the tourist traps,”

He shakes his head, “The bus? I rented us a car,”

“You did?”

“Professional here, kid,” he points to himself, “give me some credit please,”

“You are not old enough to be calling me ‘kid,’” you say playfully.

_Am I flirting with him? I’m totally flirting with him._

“Hey, I’m forty-two. Pretty sure that makes you a kid to me,”

You frown, “Just out of curiosity, how old do you think I am?”

“Isn’t this one of those questions you’re never supposed to answer?”

“It’s fine, just guess,”

“I dunno. Twenty-five?”

Oh. You were hoping he’d be a little more off, so you could surprise him with how much older you are. Maybe then he wouldn’t think of you as a child.

“Close. I’m twenty-eight,”

“Well, I’m glad we cleared that up,” he clears his throat awkwardly and goes back to his coffee.

Why do you even care what he thinks of you? You’ve got a bee in your bonnet over nothing. You just met the guy yesterday, after all. You’ve barely begun to get to know each other. All that matters is that you can trust him to get you through this without betraying you or getting you killed. So far, you think you can. The fact that he’s your absolute last chance helps a little.

“You ready to go, Y/N?” He says, putting a cigarette between his lips.

“Yes,” you say much too quickly, springing to your feet, your stomach rolling around inside of you.

The two of you leave the hotel and walk around to the parking lot, Sam lighting his cigarette as you go.

“This is the car I rented,” he walks to a tan coloured Jeep.

“You planning some off-roading?” You say, raising your eyebrows at the car.

“It’s always good to be prepared for anything,” he says, throwing the keys to you.

You catch them and unlock the car, climbing into the driver’s side. “Do you have the map?” you ask as Sam gets in beside you.

“Of course,” he waves the folded-up map at you as he slams the Jeep door shut. He lays the map out on his lap. “So we are… _here_ ,” he says, pointing, “and the temple is… over _there_. You want to take a left out of here and then a right,”

“Gotcha,” you start the engine and pull out of the hotel parking lot, the morning sun beating down on you through the open sunroof. Weirdly in sync, you and Sam slip on your sunglasses, like you’re in some action movie or something. You smile happily. You can’t wait to see the temple again, it’s been years since you last took a trip out here and you just know you’re going to fall in love with Aphrodite all over again.  
  
  
  
“And we’re here!” You chirp, turning the engine off and hopping out of the car. You just barely remember to lock the car after you once Sam climbs out.

“Someone’s excited,” he smiles, catching up with you at a more reasonable pace.

“Aren’t you? Look at this place, it’s gorgeous!” you wind your way through the other early bird tourists until you’re standing in the shadow of the enormous columns.

There’s not much still standing, truth be told, but the skeletal stone remains of Aphrodite’s temple have that maudlin beauty of what once was. Two incredibly high, astoundingly beautiful arches are all that remain, both of them supported by carven stone pillars. It’s a truly fitting place for the worship of the goddess of beauty and love. A city had sprung up around the temple, and a few crumbling walls and other misshapen structures are all that’s left of Palaipaphos and its people.

You and Sam join the line and you pay the entry fee for the both of you. He whistles as he looks around the place, “Not really what I was picturing. It’s a lot less… intact than I imagined,”

“I know. It is going to make it difficult to find where the entrance to the crypt was,” you say, not letting it dampen your spirits.

“You wanna give me the history lesson while we have a look around?” he says, head tilted back to look at the underside of the arches.

“Okay,” you begin wandering between the columns, “the temple was built by the Cult of Aphrodite in fifteen hundred BC, but people came here to worship her long before then. There have been relics and coins bearing her image found here dated around thirty-eight hundred BC,”

“Why here? What is it about this place?”

“Well, Paphos is supposedly Aphrodite’s birthplace, depending on which origin story you subscribe to,” you laugh lightly, “she came from Uranus’ severed genitals,”

Sam’s eyebrows raise, “I’m sorry, what?”

“Cronus chopped them off and threw them into the ocean, where they uh _fertilised_ the sea foam and created Aphrodite. That’s what her name means, by the way, ‘risen from the foam,’”

He nods his head, “Yeah. No shit,”

“I’d say you can’t make this stuff up, but somebody did,” you grin.

The two of you share a chuckle before Sam’s face grows serious. “What’s that over there?” he says, pointing to something behind you.

You turn around to look, and a little ways off, partly obscured by a collapsed stone wall, is a sign, cordoned off by ropes. “That wasn’t there the last time I was here,” you say, moving closer so that you can read what the sign says.

In Greek, and the again in English, the sign reads ‘WARNING! Due to the recent earthquake, this area is no longer safe for unauthorized personnel.’

“Huh,” you say, looking around the large blocked-off area, “I wonder-“

“Please don’t get too close, Ma’am,” a security guard says, appearing at your side suddenly, “we don’t want you to get hurt,”

“What happened here?” you ask him.

“There was a collapse, one of the walls fell straight through the ground. The whole area there is unstable now. Seems there’s a cave or something down there,”

You barely manage to contain your excitement, “Has anyone explored it yet?”

“No, not yet. If you want to know anything else, you should ask one of the tour guides. I better get back to my post,”

“Thanks for your help,” you turn to Sam, grinning, “I think this is it!”

“Yeah we lucked out,” he says, “mother nature did our excavating for us,”

“It’s like it’s fate or something,” you laugh breathlessly.

Sam smiles brightly before sobering all of a sudden. “Don’t turn around,” he says lowly, “describe your ex-partner to me,”

You blink, “What, why?”

“Just do it. Please,”

“Um, he’s like six foot five, he’s got this ridiculous long shiny brown hair, he’s in his mid-thirties-“

“Yep, that’s him. He’s standing right over there,”

“What?” You’re about to whip your head around to look when Sam catches you by the shoulders.

“Don’t turn around! He hasn’t spotted you yet and we want to keep it that way, all right?”

You nod dumbly, looking down at where Sam’s hands rest on your shoulders. They’re calloused and scarred and they feel warm against your already heated skin. Then they’re gone, his arms back at his sides.

_Okay that felt weird. Probably not the time to dwell on it, though._

“What do we do?” you whisper. Maybe you could hide behind one of the pillars? Duck behind a wall?

_He said he was going to kill me if he saw me. I’m dead. I’m dead, I’m dead, I’m dead, I’m dead, I’m dead._

“Relax, breathe,” Sam says, “keep your sunglasses on and we’ll keep playing tourist. Who’s the guy with him?”

“I don’t know, I’m not allowed to turn around, remember?” your voice has gone high pitched and squeaky.

“He’s old, sixties, maybe. White hair, glasses, dressed kind of smart,”

You rack your brain, “It’s not ringing any bells, but that’s a kind of broad description. Can’t we strategically place ourselves somewhere where we can see them but they can’t see us?”

“Right,” he pushes you towards a group of tourists and the two of you meld yourselves into the crowd. “Over there, look,”

You see them. Jackson, the traitorous fuck, is standing feet from you in all his socks-and-sandals glory. He’s talking with an older guy, who _does_ look familiar.

_You little shit, you got a dealer involved, didn’t you?_

“That’s Richard Clemens,” you murmur, “he deals in ill-gotten gains. I guess he wants to sell the girdle to the highest bidder,”

“Yeah, I’ve heard of him. Never seen him before, though,” Sam says, frowning.

“Sam, we can’t let him have it. We _can’t_ ,” You plead with your eyes.

He nods, “Stay here. I’m gonna go see if I can’t eavesdrop on their little conversation,”

“What? Don’t go-“ you reach for him but he’s already gone, casually strolling around, getting closer and closer to your adversaries. You notice the group of people around you have moved on and you hurry to join them, doing your best to act natural and still failing miserably.

“Excuse me,”

You nearly jump out of your skin. You turn around to face the elderly couple, both of them smiling warmly at you. “Yes?”

“Would you take a photo of us in front of this pillar?”

You shake yourself. _Get it together_. “Of course,”

The woman hands you an old school digital camera and the two of them pose for the photograph with their arms around each other. You hope you have someone to take trips with when you’re old. You take the picture and hand the camera back, waving goodbye as they trundle off to look around some more.  
Sam is back by your side before you know it.

“Well? What did you hear?”

He looks at you uneasily, “I think they’re coming back tonight to break into the crypt. We should leave now before you’re spotted,”

“Tonight? What are we going to do? Do you have a plan?” you whisper as you two of you make your way back to the car.

“I’m thinking,” he says as he gets in.

“Yeah, well I’m panicking,” you reply as you buckle your seatbelt.

 

 

** Sam **

  
“I’m gonna say it again, relax,” Sam sighs, “not my first rodeo, darlin’,”

He watches Y/N as she starts the car and pulls away from the temple. She looks tense _as fuck_. He on the other hand feels strangely calm. This is the part that he’s good at. His blood zings with excitement, anticipation of what’s to come. He’s just sorry it’s turned out to be such an open and shut case.


	4. Chapter 4

** You **

You’re in a small café down the road from your hotel. You pick at your plate, your appetite completely gone. Sam sits opposite you, wolfing down his gyro with sickening gusto. You turn your nose up at him and continue nursing your soda, your leg bouncing up and down under the table. Finally you can stand it no longer.

“Okay, I’ve given you a reasonable amount of time. What’s your plan?”

Sam licks his fingers clean, one by one, before answering, “It’s been like a half hour,”

You blink, “Sam! Plan!” you voice is dangerously close to turning shrill. The people at the next table turn to look at you briefly.

He actually laughs, the bastard. You’re really going off the male species. _Maybe I’ll just become a nun. Or a lesbian._

“Y/N, will you calm down?” he chugs the rest of his lemonade, “Hey, are you going to eat that?”

You push your plate towards him, sighing, “I promise that I will calm my tits the moment you tell me that you have a plan,”

“I have a plan,” he says simply, then starts digging in to your shrimp souvlaki.

You give him a moment. Two moments. Three-

“Well? _What is it?_ ” you hiss.

“You see? Now that,” he points to you with a piece of pitta bread, “is not the face of someone who is calm,”

“Oh my god, you’re going to make me flip my shit,” you drop your head into your hands and groan.

Finally he takes pity on you, “Alright, alright. I’m sorry. I’m thinking I go back out there tonight, drop in on the cave in, swipe the girdle and get out of there before Jackson even arrives,”

“No, that’s not going to work,”

“Of course it will. Trust me, I’m very sneaky,”

You shake your head, “That’s not what I mean. The girdle is _my_ discovery. I _need_ to be the one to find it,”

He sighs, “You know what, you’re right. Okay, new plan: same as the last plan but you’ll come too. How does that sound?” he offers you a placating smile.

Your heart’s thumping in your chest as you respond, “Sounds good, let’s do it,”  
  
  
  
“Sam, why is there a gun tucked into the back of your pants?”

He sighs, this is your twentieth question in as many minutes, “In case I need to shoot someone, Y/N. Don’t make me pick you,”

“I’m sorry, okay? I’ve never done anything like this before,”

“I know, you’ve said so a million times,” his face softens, “I’m gonna be right there with you, you’ve got nothing to worry about,”

You’re both dressed all in black, and you feel decidedly silly. The clock is ticking down. It’s almost time to go. “Will you just go over the plan one last time for me? Please?”

“Of course,” he crosses the room to stand beside you and he places his hands on your shoulders again. For some reason this grounds you and soothes your jitters. “We drive out there, park somewhere nearby, sneak in, grab the girdle, sneak out. Simple, right?”

You nod, “Why do I get the feeling it’s not going to go down without a hitch?”

He smiles down at you gently, “Well, if there’s a hitch, then we’ll work through it together, all right?”

“All right,” You murmur. For one insane moment, you think about leaning up on your toes and kissing him. Your eyes widen at the intrusive thought, and you step away from him quickly.

_Okay, so apparently when I’m stressed I like to kiss men I barely know. Noted._

Sam looks at you weirdly but he seems to decide against pressing the issue, “All right, let’s get this show on the road,”

You adjust your black beanie self-consciously, before following him out of the hotel. It’s 1am, which means you have about two hours before Jackson and Richard Clemens show up to pull the rug out from under your feet.  
You and Sam climb into the Jeep and you drive to Aphrodite’s temple, parking in the lot of a nearby convenience store. You both hop out into the cool night air. You hurry the short distance to the temple under cover of darkness, and circle around the perimeter of the ruins.

“This way,” Sam says quietly, “there’s a lot of cover on this side that we can hide behind,”

“Right,” you whisper, nervous sweat prickling your skin.

You follow Sam’s lead, ducking behind ruined walls, winding your way towards the site of the collapse.

“What is it?” you breathe when Sam comes to a stop.

“Guard. Wait for him to pass,” he murmurs, frozen in place.

You hold in a whimper and force yourself to stay calm as you hear the footsteps crunching in the dirt. Not paying you any mind, the guard passes you by, continuing his rounds.

Sam’s looking at you. In the dark you can’t be sure, but you think he’s frowning. “Do the guards here usually carry guns?”

Your eyebrows knit together, “No. No I don’t think so. Do you think they’re onto us or something?”

“Or something,” he beckons you follow him as he slinks over to the ropes that surround the cave in. He hold one of the ropes up for you to climb under.

“Hey, you there!”

You whirl around but you almost miss it, it’s so fast. Sam latches himself around the guard’s neck, choking him and dragging him to the ground. You look on in horror as with a sick snap the man’s neck is broken.

_I’m gonna throw up._

“Is he- is he dead?”

Sam avoids your eyes, “We need to keep moving,” he says lowly.

You can’t seem to move your limbs.

“Y/N, come on, we can’t stay out here in the open,”

_Dead. Gone. He was only doing his job. He probably has a family._

Footsteps are approaching and still you can’t move.

“Shit. Fuck,” Sam groans, drawing his gun.

The pair of you are rushed by another guard, gun in hand. The beam of his flashlight bathes the area around you in artificial light.

“Freeze! Put your hands up!”

_No problem, I’m already frozen._

Sam of course, does the opposite. “Y/N, get down!” he yells, and then there’s the deafening sound of gunfire.

It’s only now that you can move. You duck into a crouch in the dust, shielding your eyes from the muzzle-flash. You crawl under the rope, desperate to get away from the shooting. The ground feels weird under your hands and knees, wobbly somehow. Then it’s crumbling, breaking, falling, and you along with it, land in a heap in the cold, dank darkness of the chamber below. You hit your head and it’s lights out.  
  
  
  
You open your eyes, squinting in the bright light of a flashlight aimed your way. There’s an angry throbbing on the back of your skull and you ache all over.

“Y/N! Y/N! You’re awake! Are you all right?”

You groan in response to the familiar voice, coming around slowly.

“Sam?” you croak, your eyes finally focussing.

Sam’s on his knees in the dirt, and he looks pretty beat up. He’s flanked on either side by huge guys with guns. With a start you recognise the one on the left as the creep who was going through your underwear drawer back home. You shudder.

“Oh thank god,” Sam sighs, “I thought you were never gonna wake up,”

“Well, isn’t this touching?”

You turn to face the new voice, your head pounding. It’s Richard Clemens, looking unbelievably smug. He crouches in front of you, smiling. It doesn’t reach his eyes.  
You try to move away only to find that you can’t. You’re sitting on the cold ground, propped up against some rubble with your hands bound behind your back. You look closer at Sam and see that he’s tied up in a similar manner.

“Are you going to kill us?” you whisper to Clemens, your eyes wide.

He chuckles, “Not if I don’t have to, my dear. Your _friend_ on the other hand,” he turns to look at Sam and underwear-drawer-creeper gives him a harsh kick in the back, throwing him forwards, “he killed two of my men. I’m not known for my forgiving nature, Y/N,”

Sam’s panting on the ground. One of his eyes is purple and swollen shut. Panic and dread run through you like nothing you’ve ever felt. You can’t stand it.

“Don’t hurt him! Please!” You cry when creeper gets ready for another kick.

“Burton, stop,” Clemens says sharply, and Sam is saved a boot.

_So the creeper has a name. Gross._

“I’m going to make a deal with you, Y/N,” Clemens stands and crossed his arms across his chest, “tell me where I can find the girdle of Aphrodite, and I’ll let you both walk out of here unscathed,”

“You call this unscathed?” Sam groans, rolling himself over at last so his face isn’t pressed into the dirt.

“Not talking to you,” Clemens sneers, looking at Sam like he’s something nasty on the bottom of one of his Italian shoes.

“Wait,” you say, your brain processing everything at half speed, “the girdle isn’t here?”

“So it would seem. Your old partner Jackson Ramsey is in the inner chamber now, looking for clues. He’s proving to be decidedly useless, which is where you come in. I’m going to take you in there and you’re going to tell me what you know. Understand?”

_It’s not like I have a choice. Damn him and Jackson._

“I understand,” you say, hanging your head.

You’re hauled to your feet by some nameless goon and you moan in pain as your bound arms twist uncomfortably.

“Don’t you dare hurt her, you bastard!” Sam yells, writhing against his bonds.

“I’ll take your feelings under due consideration, Mr. Drake,” Clemens says, smirking as he follows you and his henchman deeper into the underground cavern.

 

**  
Sam **

_Fuckfuckfuck how did it go this wrong? I’ll never forgive myself if she gets hurt._

Sam cries out in pain as a boot is ground into his chest. _Son of a bitch._

“Hey, let up a little, fellas, huh? Unscathed, remember,” he goes for his usual charming-but-actually-annoying. Oftentimes the best thing to do is stay quiet, but he just can’t help it. It’s just how he’s wired.

“God, do you ever shut up?” Burton says, but he removes his foot from Sam’s chest.

“Occasionally,” Sam shrugs, or tries to shrug, with his arms bound as they are.

He knew something was wrong when he saw that the guards were armed. He should have called the whole thing off then and there. He should have never brought Y/N to begin with.

_No way, she never would have stood for that. This is too important to her._

“So what did you guys do with the museum guards?” he asks casually.

“Killed them all,” Burton answers easily, “boss told us to keep an eye out for the girl. Almost got past us there,”

“Almost,” Sam sighs.

It’s odd that he’s relieved. Now he’ll be able to tell Y/N that the man he’d killed in front of her wasn’t some innocent guy just doing his job.

_Her face when I killed him… I don’t want her to ever look at me like that again. Like I’m nothing but a killer. Doesn’t she understand it was to protect her?_

He said he had her back and he meant it, damn it.

“Who’s this Victor that keeps calling you? He your boyfriend?” Burton’s got Sam’s phone in his hands, browsing through it leisurely.

“Yeah, he’s my sugar daddy,” Sam drawls.

_Holy crap I forgot all about you, Victor. Come on, you gotta get me outta this mess. I don’t know how, but you better figure it out cause I don’t know if I can do this one myself._


	5. Chapter 5

** You **

You try to keep your feet steady underneath you as you are marched down the underground passage. You’ve never been this frightened in your life and you’re quite surprised you still have control of your bladder. Clemens and his man light the way with their flashlights but there’s nothing much to see yet, just roughly hewn rock and dust. There’s lots of dust.

“Here we are, Y/N. Why don’t you have a look around?”

You shield your eyes from the burn of the floodlights that have been set up around the small inner chamber. Slowly you adjust to the brightness, and the room comes into view.

“Oh my god,” you gasp in wonder.

The room is an almost perfect square, with intricately carved murals etched into the sanded-smooth walls. In the centre of the room sits an ornate stone dais, atop of which is the most exquisitely sculpted statue you have ever seen.

“Aphrodite,” you sigh, drifting over to her as if in a trance. She’s made of polished marble, and there’s something so lifelike about her that you almost expect to find her breathing. She’s almost completely naked, except for one thing.

“Is this your girdle?” you whisper to her. She’s adorned in a carved marble depiction of her elusive relic, and it’s unlike any other portrayal of the girdle that you’ve seen in paintings or sculptures. Strings and loops of intricately engraved marble hang around her neck, covering her breasts and winding around her waist. As you circle her, you see that more strings and loops hang down to cover her buttocks.

Next to her lounges a regal lion, his mane luxurious and full, and she rests her right hand on his head. Her other hand is raised near her face, and on her outstretched finger sits a glorious white dove.

“You’re really here,” you breathe, all of your fear now replaced with pure awe.

“Yes, she’s here all right, but where’s the damn girdle?” Jackson says from the shadows.

You start, remembering that he’s here. You’d paid him no mind when you entered, instantly enthralled as you were with Aphrodite.

“Nice to see you again, Judas,” you say snidely, wishing you had your hands free so you could flip him the bird.

“Now, children, play nice,” Clemens says lazily, “I want that girdle. You should know that bad things happen when I don’t get what I want,”

_You must have been a joy to be around as a child._

“She’s wearing it,” you say simply, “don’t you see?”

“Not that thing,” Jackson snaps, “the _real_ girdle,”

“I don’t know what to tell you,” you shrug as best you can with your arms bound, “maybe this is all there is,”

Clemens’ eyes flash dangerously behind his glasses, “Don’t toy with me, girl,”

“I’m not, I swear. Isn’t the statue enough? It must be worth-“

“Jackson, go and get Mr. Drake and the others. I want to show Y/N what happens to people who lie to me,”

The blood drains from your face. You open and close your mouth uselessly for a moment before you can get your words out. “I-I-I’m not lying to you! Please, believe me! Don’t hurt him, please!”

He ignores you, and soon enough you hear the grunts and groans of Sam being dragged down the passageway. He actually smiles when he sees you.

“It’s going to be all right, Y/N,” he says, and it’s almost laughable. How can any of this be all right?

“He’s right, you know,” Clemens says, “if you give me what I want. Now hurry, before my men get antsy and start _breaking things_ ,”

You feel like you’re going to start hyperventilating, but you really try to pull yourself together. Your eyes dart all around the small room, full of panic, trying to find anything that might be a clue.

“Can I have my arms free?” you ask quietly, “it’s hard to think like this,”

“Fine, but don’t you dare try anything,” Clemens snarls, before untying your bonds.

You groan and roll your shoulders a few times, before shaking yourself mentally and physically.

_Just keep a cool head. Forget about the men with guns and the fact that you might die tonight, just do what you do best and study the crap out of this place._

You head to the wall to your left and investigate the mural there. It’s huge, covering the entire wall. It’s clear to see that it depicts Aphrodite rising from the foam, walking to the shore at Paphos.

“Hello, symbolism,” you mutter to yourself.

Surrounding Aphrodite in the ocean are a number of icons so often associated with her. Swimming alongside her are dolphins, jumping over the waves. Geese fly overhead in a V-formation, while ducks and graceful long-necked swans paddle in the surf. She holds a conch shell in one hand, holding it up to her ear as if she’s listening to the ocean through it. It’s serenely beautiful, but you don’t think it’s helpful.  
You move on to the opposite wall to examine that mural. This time Aphrodite is frolicking in a garden, and she’s encircled by yet more of her symbols. She’s feeding a flock of sparrows that dance at her feet, while doves hover over each of her shoulders. She stands by a large apple tree, but the fruits that lie at its base are split open pomegranates. Around the trunk of the tree winds a vine of roses and myrtles. You can’t see how this one is helpful, either.  
The only thing left in the room to look at is the giant statue in the centre. You approach it slowly, taking it in. Your wonderment is only lessened slightly by the circumstances.

_Okay, Aphrodite- check. Dove- check. Lion- check._

_Wait._

_Lion._

Aphrodite isn’t usually seen with lions. In a room so obviously dedicated to symbolism, it seems odd to find something that just doesn’t fit. You draw closer, and now you can see little symbols etched into the dais that the statue sits on.  
There are more doves and lions, and also horses, and what at a push you would call a sphinx. There’s also a star in the middle of a circle- an old depiction of the planet Venus. Aside from the doves, _none_ of these things are associated with Aphrodite. What’s the significance of this?

“Well? I’m growing impatient,” Clemens says, bringing you out of your reverie.

“I’m thinking,” you murmur, not looking at him.

Two painstakingly carved murals, depicting all of Aphrodite’s symbols. The centrepiece of the room, the exquisite statue, bears symbols that are all wrong. What does it mean?

_Of course. It’s so obvious, I can’t believe I didn’t realise sooner._

“This is not Aphrodite,” you say, turning around to face everyone and point to the statue.

“What?” Clemens, Jackson, and Sam all exclaim in unison.

“What do you mean it’s not Aphrodite?” Jackson scoffs, coming towards you, “Of course it is, look at her,”

“Shut up, Jackson,” you snap, “you’re no longer the Aphrodite expert in the room,”

Sam laughs at that and when you look at him the two of you share a smile.

“All right, Y/N, start explaining,” Clemens says tersely.

“The symbols don’t match,” You begin, oddly excited to be sharing your thoughts, “the first thing I noticed was the lion. Aphrodite’s not generally depicted with lions. Then I looked closer, and there’s all of these symbols carved into the base here; horses and sphinxes. Not what you’d typically see on an Aphrodite relief,”

“Okay, so what? Maybe the artist made a mistake,” Jackson says.

“I can’t tell if you’re being stupid or if you’re just pissed that I noticed it before you,” you sigh, “anyway, the artist didn’t make a mistake. The walls in here are absolutely covered in all of Aphrodite’s traditional emblems. The symbols are important. And I think I know why,”

“Spit it out,” Clemens’ face is getting red with impatience.

“The symbols don’t match Aphrodite, but they do match someone else,”

“If it’s not Aphrodite then who the hell is it?”

“I think,” you take a deep breath, “that this is Astarte,”

The room is silent for a moment.

“Who?” Clemens says, confusion evident on his features.

“I think Jackson can actually answer this one,” you look at him, waiting.

He nods, “She’s the Phoenician goddess of fertility and sexuality. Not too dissimilar from Aphrodite,”

“Well? What’s she doing down here? Under the temple of Aphrodite?” Clemens says.

“The temple was built by the Cult of Aphrodite,” you say, “but the Cult of Aphrodite in Cyprus was actually adapted from the Phoenician Cult of Astarte,”

“So? What does any of this have to do with the girdle?”

“I think this statue is the clue. If I’m right and this is Astarte, and as you can see, she’s wearing the girdle herself, then maybe that means we’re in the wrong temple,”

“Lebanon,” Jackson pipes up suddenly, “there’s an ancient shrine to Astarte in Lebanon, built by her cult before they came here. The girdle has to be there!”

And just like that, your good mood evaporates. You didn’t know Jackson knew about that. In fact, you were counting on him _not_ knowing it.

_You can’t have it, you prick. You don’t deserve it._

Clemens crosses his arms, “And you’re sure about this?”

“Yeah, how much more clear cut can it be?” Jackson grins, as if he’d come up with it himself, “Here we have a statue of Astarte wearing the girdle, practically begging us ‘come find me, take my girdle off!’”

You scoff in disgust, “Yes, Astarte, goddess of sex, is begging you- the man who owns two pairs of crocs,”

His face goes red, whether from rage or embarrassment, you can’t tell. “Listen, you little bitch-“

“ _Enough!”_ Clemens roars, his bored façade broken, “Jackson, leave. Start making preparations for our departure to Lebanon,”

Jackson storms off, and as he passes you he shoves you to the ground. You hit the dirt hard, grazing your hands and knees.

“Bastard!” Sam yells, trying to stand but Burton shoves him down again. “Y/N are you all right?”

You push yourself up, wincing at your stinging palms, “I’m fine,”

“You gonna let us go now, asshole? You got what you wanted,” Sam glares up at Clemens.

The old man smiles, but it does not make you feel any better. “You know, I would,” he says, strolling casually towards the exit, “if I didn’t think you were going to follow me and cause me trouble,”

Your skin raises into goosebumps and the feeling of dread makes itself known again like a cannonball to your gut. “We won’t! I swear! You can let us go!” You cry.

He shrugs, “I’d rather not,” then as an afterthought he says to one of his men, “set the charges,”

Two of the mercs haul Sam bodily to his feet and drag him towards you. You notice with a sick apprehension that one of them has a coil of rope looped onto his arm.

“What are you going to do to us?” you whimper, tears stinging the corners of your eyes.

“Let us go you bastards!” Sam yells, writhing against the grip of his captors.

“Shut up,” one of the faceless goons grunts, throwing Sam towards you. He loses his balance and crashes into you, the two of you toppling over into the dust.

Panic rises in your throat as the men begin looping the rope around the two of you, pulling it tighter and tighter every time one of you tried to move against it.

“You let her go, all right?” Sam says frantically, “Leave me here, I don’t care, but you should let her go,”

You’re too wild with fear to feel touched at the sentiment, and no matter how much you wriggle, the ropes just aren’t coming off.

The mercs leave, not sparing either of you a glance, even when Sam yells after them.

“Sam,” you whisper tearfully, “what are we going to do?”

“Everything’s gonna be okay, Y/N, everything’s gonna be okay-“

And with that there’s an almighty _boom_ and the chamber around you begins to quake.

 

 

** Sam **

The room rattles. The passage to the outside collapses in heaps of rock and rubble, sending dust flying into the air. The floodlights topple over and all but one goes out.  
Sam can hear Y/N crying behind him, panicked hiccoughing sobs, and it just breaks his heart. This is all his fault. There’s a thousand things he should have done differently. He’s so used to people like Victor and Chloe, people like himself, that he’s forgotten how to be careful. And sometimes he doesn’t even want to be.

_I can’t believe I dragged her into my midlife crisis._

He’s going to get her out of here if it’s the last thing he does.


	6. Chapter 6

** You **

Finally the earth settles and there is silence. Your panicked breaths turn to choking coughs as you inhale the dust from the explosion.

“Y/N? Y/N, are you all right?” Sam calls out to you from where he’s bound behind your back.

You spit out a mouthful of ash and try to breathe more normally. “I think so,” you croak. Your ears are ringing from the blast and the bump on the back of your head is throbbing dully. Your face is sticky with tears and your arms are hot with rope burn. Your panic has worn you out and now you sit limply, leaning your back against Sam’s, and trying not to think about how you’re going to die down here.

“I’m gonna get you out of here, Y/N, don’t you worry,” Sam says, jostling you as he wriggles around behind you.

“How?” you say quietly.

There’s a beat. “Not sure yet,” he grunts.

_Great._

The room’s lit by only one floodlight now, and mostly cast into shadow. You use the darkness to pretend that the room is much bigger, that you’re not closed in inside a tiny crypt under the ground. You’re never going to get married or have children. You’re never going to see Paris. You’re never going to find Aphrodite’s girdle.

_What a sad little life I’ve led. The only people who might miss me are my co-workers from the museum. Is there even anything to prove I was ever here at all?_

“Y/N, my lighter’s in my back pocket, I don’t think they took it- can you grab it for me? I can’t quite reach it,”

“I’ll try,” you mumble, wriggling your arms behind your back and stretching your fingers downwards.

“Hey! Easy on the goods, darlin’,” Sam yelps and you draw your hands away, blushing profusely.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-“

“It’s fine, c’mon, I was kidding,” he laughs softly, “try again,”

You take a breath and reach down again, this time your fingers meeting denim instead of skin. You twist and turn, trying to find a good angle, as you wiggle your hand into the pocket of Sam’s jeans.

“I can’t- I can’t find it!” you cry, your fingers grasping at nothing.

“Hey, hey, hey, relax. Calm down, try the other pocket,”

“The other pocket, right,” you start the whole process again, straining to get your hand out of the pocket and into the other one. The tip of your middle finger brushes cool metal and you gasp with relief. “I’ve got it!” You say, clutching the lighter in your hand and manoeuvring your hand out of his pocket again.

“Atta girl,” Sam sighs, “now, pass it to me,”

You lean forwards a little, as much as you can, and reach around with your empty hand, trying to find one of Sam’s. His fingers find yours and he squeezes gently. You squeeze back on reflex, glad for the comfort.

Sam clears his throat, “So uh, as much as I’d love to sit here holding hands all day-”

“Right!” You pass the lighter from one hand to the other and then press it into Sam’s palm, “Sorry,”

“It’s okay, you’re only human,” he drawls, and you hear the click of him flicking the lighter open.

You roll your eyes, huffing out a laugh in spite of yourself. Your cheeks are still warm, and you think about how Sam’s calloused hand felt in yours.

_Not really the time._

You remember Sam strangling the guard earlier and swallow the lump that forms in your throat.

_Just don’t think about it now._

“So I’m gonna light this and try to burn through the rope. Strain as far forwards as you can, I’ll do the same, and then maybe I won’t give us third degree burns,”

“Oh god,” you groan, and you and Sam both strain against your bonds as much as you can, trying to create a little bit of space between the two of you.

“Here goes nothing,” he says, before striking the lighter into life.

You squeal in pain and try to pull further away, "Ow, fuck!”

“Shit, sorry, sorry,” Sam says quickly, and he moves the flame away from where it was burning your wrist.

You drag in deep lungfuls of air, your wrist still in searing pain and your eyes leaking tears down your face.

“Motherfucker!” Sam roars in pain, until the two of you pitch forward into the dirt, the ropes binding you finally broken.

You squint in the poor light at your arm and grimace at the angry looking welt there. You stand up, your legs shaky, and survey the room. “Now what?” you say, sniffling.

Sam clambers to his feet as well, then runs to check out the caved in passageway. “We’re not getting out this way,” he calls, his voice echoing around the small room.

You can feel the panic rising up in your throat again. “What do we do?”

“I need you to think, Y/N. In those cult letters, what did they say about this crypt? Did they ever mention any secret passages or anything?”

You shake your head, “No. They only ever talked about the statue, and that was rarely. It was all a big secret,”

“Well, shit,” he mutters, before striding to one of the walls and beginning to run his fingers over the stone.

“What, you think a hidden door’s just going to swing open?” You say dryly.

“From my experience, yeah,”

“Oh. I’ll help look,”

“That would be good, yeah,”

You follow his lead and begin examining the walls, digging your fingernails into the cracks, knocking to find hollow spots. Nothing.

“I have a man on the outside who should be looking for us right about now,” Sam says nonchalantly, “hopefully he finds us before our oxygen runs out,”

You frown, pushing the thoughts of _Oh god, I’m going to suffocate_ to the side for a moment. You didn’t know there was anyone else involved. That wasn’t part of your deal.

“You told someone else about this?” you say, trying not to let your paranoia seep into your voice.

“Relax, he’s a friend. He’s just here in Cyprus for a little vacation, that’s all,”

“And you’re sure he’s not here to just swoop in so you two can cut me out?” Goodbye subtlety.

Sam turns around to face you, his brows knitted together in annoyance, “What?”

“I’m just saying, you never mentioned him to me before. Who is he anyway?”

He sighs, “His name’s Victor Sullivan and he’s not exactly the kind of guy you associate with if you value your reputation,” he huffs. “I was trying to keep your hands as clean as possible,”

“Well, you’ve done a bang-up job so far,” you snap, showing him your ruined hands and the burn mark on your wrist. Of course, your hands aren’t really what’s causing this unexpected anger, but you’re too scared to broach the real topic.

_Don’t think about it._

“Oh, that’s nothing, princess,” he snaps back, pulling up the sleeve of his shirt to show you the damage to his own arm.

“Oh my god,” you breathe, recoiling in horror.

Almost his entire forearm is burnt and blistered. It’s certainly much, much worse than the battle wound you came away with.

“Your arm-“ you say uselessly.

He rolls his sleeve up over his elbow gingerly, “I wasn’t going to show you, but since you seem to be under the impression that I’m not looking for you, here it is,”

He’d held the lighter against his own skin, burning himself horribly so that you wouldn’t get hurt any more than you had to. You look down at your feet in shame. “I’m sorry,” you mumble.

“It’s fine, let’s just keep looking around, all right?”

You nod, wondering whether you should tell him what’s really on your mind.

_If we get out of here alive, then I’ll bring it up. Until then I am not thinking about it._

You shuffle over to the statue, leaving Sam to inspect the walls and floor. You look over the shiny marble, looking for anything that could be considered out of place.

_Maybe if I squeeze her ass the portal to Narnia will open._

You look up into Astarte’s eyes and try not to think about how eerie they are. It’s like she’s looking straight into your soul. The plump dove that sits on her finger looks like it’s about to take wing at any moment. Every groove of every feather has been meticulously cut into the marble. You stand up on your toes and stretch your arm up, running your fingers along each wing, feeling the bumps and lines there. With a start you feel that one of the feathers is raised slightly.

_I wonder…_

You press down with the pads of your fingers and there’s some movement there. It’s like a button! You push down more but you can’t quite get it to go down all the way. You're not strong enough.

“Sam!” you call, “I think there’s a switch here but it’s stuck!”

He jumps up from where he’s been crouching in the corner and jogs the short distance to you. “Great!” he says, stretching, “show me where?”

“Up on the dove’s back, it's one of the feathers, I think,”

“Up here?” he reaches up with ease, barely having to strain at all to reach it. You feel very small standing next to him. There’s the grinding sound of stone on stone. “I got it!” he cries.

“Oh thank god,” you sigh, waiting with bated breath for some secret passageway to swing open.

“Fuck!” Sam growls when, after a few moments, there’s nothing.

_Nonononononononono…_

“Now what?” you moan for the second time, about ready to start sobbing again.

Sam doesn’t have chance to answer because the floor below the two of you promptly opens, dropping you flailing and screaming into blackness.

 

 

 

** Sam **

The two of them land in a heap on a cold stone floor. Sam groans, his back aching in protest to the rough treatment. His breath is being squeezed out of him by the warm body splayed out over him.

“Y/N? Y/N?” he pats her on the back, trying not to notice that her ass is pretty close to his face right now.

“Sam?” she murmurs groggily, not moving.

“Yeah, it’s me, kiddo. Time to get up,” he nudges her gently.

“Don’t call me that,” she slurs, “I’m a fully grown woman, I’m not a child, if you haven’t noticed,”

_Believe me, darlin’, I have noticed._

“You hurt? I’m gonna roll you off of me now,”

Y/N hums like she’s thinking about it, “I think I’m okay, just a little woozy,”

“I’ll be gentle,” he promises, before wriggling out from underneath her. “You hit your head again?” he asks gently, sitting beside her as she rights herself slowly.

“No, no, I don’t think so,” she sits up, “where are we?”

Good question. He looks around, finally realising how odd it is that he can see at all. There’s light coming in from somewhere.

“No idea,” he says, standing up and brushing himself off, “let’s go,” he holds out a hand to help her up and she takes it, hauling herself to her feet. “This way,” he turns towards where the light is brightest.

The underground cavern extends into a tunnel, and it gets more brightly lit with each step the pair takes.

“I can’t believe we’re alive,” Y/N says, blowing out a whistling breath.

“We ain’t out of the woods yet,”

“I know, but we’re out of that crypt which is further than I thought we’d get,” she laughs nervously.

She wants to say something else, he can just tell. “What is it, Y/N?”

She takes a deep breath before speaking, “You killed that man back there,” she says in a small voice.

He clears his throat awkwardly. “I did, yeah,”

“Have you killed lots of people?”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair, “Yeah,”

There’s an intake of breath, “Okay. Wow,”

Sam stops walking and turns to face her. “Maybe you shouldn’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to, Y/N,” he says, resting his hands on her shoulders and looking deep into her eyes. Her cheeks tinge pink and she looks away. “This business is not clean, okay? And if you’re wanting to dip your toes into the deep end then you’re going to get wet,” he shakes her slightly until she locks eyes with him again. “It was us or him back there and I was hired to keep you safe and help you to find that damn girdle. God as my witness, that is what I’m going to do, even if it involves getting my hands dirty, do you understand?”

She blinks a few times. “I understand. You’re right, I’ve been so completely naïve about this whole thing,”

He softens immediately, turning away from her so that she doesn’t see his face. “It’s your first rodeo, don’t worry about it,”

“Let’s get out of here then,” she breezes past him and leads the way along the tunnel.

He rolls his shoulders and follows her. He doesn’t go too far before she calls out to him. “What’s wrong now?” he says as he catches up to her.

“What do you think?” she says, gesturing around her.

_Oh._

The tunnel comes to an abrupt end, open to the dawn air. The sun peeking over the horizon had lit their way along the passage, and now it shows them their surroundings. The underground cavern opens up onto the ocean, and the lapping waves are all that the eye can see.

“Well,” Sam says, turning to her and smiling, “I hope you’re a strong swimmer,”


	7. Chapter 7

** You **

 

You blink expectantly, waiting for Sam to laugh or something. When he doesn’t, you realise he’s not joking.

“We’re going to swim?”

He shrugs, “You got a better idea? C’mon, it can’t be too far until we get around to somewhere we can climb back up,”

_Climbing? Great._

He sees your frown and his face softens sympathetically. “It’s okay, Y/N. I’ll be right there with you, I promise,”

You look down at the water, sloshing against the rock you’re standing on. You can swim, sure, but you’re more used to the heated pool at your gym, not the cold morning ocean, salty as tears. But what else can you do? Go back the way you came and sit in the dark little crypt? No. You swallow.

“Let’s go,” you say, nodding your head resolutely. You look to Sam and he smiles at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Atta girl, Y/N,” he says softly, taking your hand in his, “follow me,”

He leads you down the slippery rocks to the edge of the sea, turning his head to give you a wink before dropping your hand and lowering himself into the water. You follow him in before you can think about it, before you can chicken out.

“Fuck me, it’s cold!” You gasp, treading water with trembling limbs covered in goosebumps.

Sam bobs over to you, “Yeah, I thought it’d be warmer than this,”

“Oh you did, did you?” you say through gritted teeth, trying to keep them from chattering together.

He just gives you a look, the lull of the tide bringing him closer towards you. You gulp.

“Just… shut up and follow me, all right? Stay close,” he says, turning and sliding into a smooth breaststroke.

You look past him in the direction he’s heading and you can see a rocky shore not _too_ far away. You force your limbs into a clumsy front crawl, only now realising how truly exhausted you are. You ache in places you didn’t even know could ache, and the cold isn’t making it any easier to keep yourself going. Your stomach chooses now to make it known how empty it is, hunger pangs vibrating through your body, and you feel curiously light headed.

“Hey, Y/N! Y/N! Stay with me, you hear?”

You jolt, horrified to realise you were drifting off, both mentally and physically. The distance between you and the beach seems greater than before, but how can that be when you’re so tired? You must have been swimming for ages...  
You drag your arms through the water, so thick it feels like syrup, and kick your legs as hard as you can. The gentle waves keep filling your mouth with saltwater and you have to keep spitting it out so that you can breathe. You’re just so tired.

“Oh fuck,” you hear Sam’s voice muddily in your ear, like you’re underwater.

Well, that might just be because you _are._  
  
  
  
Your throat is on fire. You cough and splutter, hearing the seawater splashing its way out of your gullet. Your eyes are streaming salt and you don’t think you’ve ever felt this awful before in your life. You think someone’s trying to talk to you, but it’s hard to hear over the blood rushing in your ears. You flop back down onto the slimy cold stone floor and draw several deep, painful breaths. The insides of your lungs feel scratchy.  
Slowly, you start to come to a little more. You realise you recognise your surroundings. Your stomach twists anxiously. You’re back in the tunnel under Astarte’s statue. What happened?

“Oh, thank god. You’re awake,” Sam says when he sees that your eyes are open.

“You’ve been saying that a lot lately,” you rasp, your throat like sandpaper. You manage a watery smile.

He chuckles ruefully, “I’ve been doing a shitty job of keeping you safe, haven’t I?”

“Hey, at least I’m alive,” you haul yourself into a sitting position. It takes a tremendous effort.

“How do you feel?” He says softly, moving closer to you and looking into your eyes, his face tight with concern.

Even now, you manage to blush. You look away, as usual. “Like I’ve drowned,” you say wryly, “what happened out there?”

“It’s all my fault,” he says, looking down at the floor you both sit upon, “I broke my promise to you, I said I’d be right with you. I shouldn’t have asked you to swim that distance, it was too far-“

You put a hand on his arm to stop him, “It’s not your fault, okay? I don’t know what happened, one minute I was swimming after you and the next… I wasn’t,”

“Your adrenaline crashed,” he says, nodding his head sympathetically, “it’s only to be expected, after the ordeal you had last night, and when was the last time you ate anything substantial?”

You try to think back, “Oh god, my last meal was almost that awful plane food,” you wrinkle your nose at the thought.

“That settles it, when we get back, we’re getting a steak in you,” he says resolutely.

You laugh a little, before remembering your predicament, “How are we going to get back?” you say in a small voice.

“Simple. I’m gonna swim to shore and find Victor, then the two of us will come back here for you,”

You adamantly push down the intrusive thoughts of _yeah right_ and _you’ll leave me here to die, more like._ You remind yourself of all the things he’s done for you so far. Sure, it’s not exactly been smooth sailing, but he seems to have your best interests at heart. You decided back in the cave that you were going to trust him, and you are.

“How are you so calm?” you say, voicing something that’s been on your mind for a while, “Is this not an ‘ordeal’ for you too?”

He chuckles, “It’s more ‘average day at the office’ than anything else,” his face grows sombre, “I forget sometimes than this is not how normal people spend their time. But you don’t have to worry; I’ve got my head on straight now, everything’s gonna be fine,”

You don’t know what to say to that. You shiver in your wet clothes, grimacing. Sam takes that as a sign to get moving.

“Please don’t be gone long,” you whisper, hugging your knees into your chest.

“I won’t, I promise,” he nods, squeezing your arm in goodbye.

“Oh, and Sam?” you pipe up just as he’s about to slide into the water again, “thank you. For saving my life, I mean,”

He smiles at you and it’s like the sun’s come out to thaw your bones, “Any time, princess,” he gives you one last wink, and then he’s gone, out to sea.  
  
  
  
Your teeth are rattling in your skull. You’re shaking so much that you keep bumping your sore head against the cave wall, adding frequent sharp pains to the already dull ache that fills your entire body. You managed to drag your tired body out to the mouth of the cave, ready to catch the sunshine on your clammy skin, but the day’s turned out to be overcast and grey. Your body judders and shakes, and your eyes keep dipping closed without your permission. You’ve gone so far past being scared at this point that sheer tiredness has taken over, and with it a drowsy sort of calm.  
Your eyes drift open lazily and you have no idea how long you’ve been asleep. You don’t know how long it’s been since Sam left, minutes or hours, and you start to wonder if he’s coming back at all.

_Of course he is. He’s coming back for me._

There’s an annoying sort of buzzing noise. The waterlogged gears in your brain begin to move sluggishly, trying to figure out what it is. You realise it’s coming from above, in the sky, and you squint up into the dark clouds, but you can’t see anything.  
Suddenly the noise is so loud and so close you want to cover your ears, and with no warning a plane soars overhead, dangerously low, and comes to a surprisingly graceful landing on the water a little ways from you.

_Am I hallucinating this?_

You crawl to the very edge of the water, blinking, expecting the plane to just vanish at any moment, when the hatch swings open and Sam’s jumping out with a splash, swimming towards you.  
A grin spreads out across your face when he gets to you, and in that moment he’s the most beautiful person that you’ve ever seen in your life.

“Sam!” You sigh, beaming dreamily at him as he hoists himself out of the water.

“Y/N,” he says in return, reaching out and squeezing your shoulder gently, “how you feeling, sweetheart?”

“Right now? Amazing,” you laugh breathily. You could _really, really_ kiss him right now.

“Let’s get you out of here, then,” he nods, smiling softly. He slips back down into the water and turns to face you. “I want you to hold onto me, all right? Can you do that for me?”

You dangle your legs into the water and it’s still so, so cold, but you look into Sam’s eyes and find the courage there to follow him. “I can do it,” you say, proud of yourself for how brave you sound.

“That’s my girl,” he smiles, turning his back to you and letting you wrap your arms around his neck.

Awkwardly the two of you make your way the short distance to the little plane, Sam only able to use his arms, and you just hanging on uselessly, vaguely impressed with how strong he is as he pulls you both through the water.  
You get to the plane finally and an arm reaches down to help you inside. You take it without question and you’re swung up into the cabin with ease.

“Here you go, darlin’,” The old man says, handing you a big fluffy towel before turning to help Sam as well.

“Thank you,” you say earnestly, wrapping yourself up in the towel and taking a seat before your weary legs can give out from under you.

Sam thumps down onto the seat next to you, wrapped in his own towel. “Hey, Victor,” he says as the old man closes up the hatch, “bring that coffee over here, would you?”

“What did your last slave die of?” he grunts, but he presses a thermos into your frozen hands all the same.

“Disobedience,” you say absentmindedly, too busy trying to get your wrinkled fingers to open the lid of the thermos.

When Victor looks at you with an eyebrow raised you flush. You turn to Sam, “That’s what you’re supposed to say when someone asks you that question,” you say meekly, still fumbling with the screw cap on the thermos.

There’s a beat and then the two men are laughing loudly and you can’t help but chuckle along with them.

“Here, will you just let me do that?” Sam says, smiling, and takes the coffee from you before smoothly unscrewing the cap and pouring you a cup, “drink that, you’ll feel better,”

You let the cup warm your hands and breathe in some of the steam before taking a sip of the blissfully warm coffee. You can feel it spreading through your body, almost scorching hot except not painful.

“Get us outta here, Victor,” Sam says, leaning back in his seat and casually throwing an arm around the back of yours. You can feel the heat radiating off of him and you inch closer to him a little.

“Yes, your majesty,” Victor says, and then there’s the rumbling of the propeller, and you’re in the air.

 ****  
  
  
Sam

 

“So what the hell happened to you kids out there?” Victor says gruffly, “You got as far as telling me about falling through the floor?”

Sam groans “Yeah, the fucking floor just opened up and we fell into this tunnel. Why the fuck was there a tunnel down there anyway?” he turns to Y/N.

“I think it was an anti-theft thing or something,” she mumbles sleepily, “you know, if you mess with the statue you get dropped into a pit full of snakes or something,”

“Jesus, guess we’re lucky we were a thousand years too late, huh?” Sam chuckles, but there’s no response from her. Her head thunks onto his shoulder and when he looks down she’s breathing deeply, even snoring a tiny bit. He looks up and meets Victor’s eye as he casts a quick glance over his shoulder at his two passengers.  
Sam’s suddenly awfully aware of the stupid, stupid, soft smile that’s plastered across his face right now. He schools his face into a scowl, “What?” he says, careful not to wake Y/N.

“Nothing at all,” Victor says, “awfully cosy there, aren’t you?”

“It’s not like that,”

“Oh sure, sure. I’ve had a few that weren’t like that myself,”


	8. Chapter 8

** You **

“Y/N, time to wake up,” someone says softly above you, shaking you gently.

“Fuck off,” you grumble sleepily, nuzzling further into your pillow.

Your pillow starts moving and now there’s laughter. You open one eye. “Huh?” you murmur. You’ve been drooling.

“Y/N,” Sam sing-songs in your ear.

“Whoa!” You unstick your face from his chest, your eyes snapping open, and wipe your face with the towel still wrapped around your shoulders. “Where are we?” you rub your eyes.

Sam’s laughing, a goofy grin on his face. His eye is still swollen and sore looking, but he seems okay.

“We’ve landed. We’re near the hotel,” he says, “c’mon, let’s go get cleaned up,”

There’s a big wet patch on the breast of his shirt. You flush scarlet. “I am so sorry,” you say, mortified.

Sam looks down at himself and starts laughing again, “Don’t worry about it, I’m covered in dirt and my own blood, a little drool won’t hurt,”

You get up and stretch, noticing that the plane is empty except for the two of you. “Where’s Victor?”

Sam stands as well, opening the hatch and stepping out into the light rain. “He went to get food. You should go shower, then we can eat in my room,”

You follow him out of the plane on wobbly legs. He reaches out immediately to steady you as you step down.

“Thanks,” you say, smiling up at him.

Sam slams the hatch shut and the two of you walk along the empty dirt road in comfortable silence until you wind around to the street that your hotel sits on. You’re glad for the rain, it’s kept most people indoors and you know that you and Sam must look suspicious, all beaten up and dirty with wet clothes and hair.

“So, you uh, think you’ll be requiring my services as a pillow again any time soon?” Sam says, smirking.

For once you don’t blush. After everything that’s happened over the last couple of days, you’re finally comfortable in Sam’s company. You were quite literally thrown in at the deep end in your acquaintance with him, and now you don’t think there’s anything he could say that would weird you out. You scoff, finding yourself welcoming the banter, feeling less embarrassed. “As shitty as the hotel pillows are, at least they’re quiet,”

“You wound me, I thought you liked my wit,”

“In small doses,” you smile, “like really small,” you hold up your fingers an inch apart.

“You’re shit outta luck then, cause there’s nothing small about me,” Sam says smugly.

You manage to keep a straight face for all of half a second before bursting into laughter. “Wow, okay,”

The two of you finally reach the hotel and Sam holds the door open for you to step into the lobby. You head over to the elevator.

“Come on over to my room when you’re ready and we’ll eat,” Sam says when the elevator gets to his floor and he steps out.

“Okay, see you later,” you wave and the elevator doors slide closed, carrying you up two more floors.

You find your room key in the god awful green vase that sits in a nook in the wall near your room and unlock the door. You step inside and shut the door behind you, before sinking down so that you’re sitting on the scratchy carpet with your back pressed up against the door. Now that you’re alone and back to safety, you’re really not sure how you feel. Relieved? Yes. Back to normal? Not quite.  
You suppose that you could still be in shock, or at the very least, coming down from it, so that might explain the weird numbness you’re feeling.

_I should be happy to be alive. I almost died… more than once._

You remember the sheer hopelessness and the panic you felt tied up in that crypt under the temple of Aphrodite. You remember vomiting up the ocean after nearly drowning in it, and then struggling just to stay conscious as you wondered if Sam was ever going to come back.  
You’re surprised at yourself; you thought for sure that something like this would send you off home with your tail tucked firmly between your legs, but as it happens, that is not the case.  
There’s a burning in you. Everything that’s happened to you so far has only made you more determined, added more fuel to the fire. You just have to find the girdle now, even more so than before. You can’t let people who would walk all over you like that, crush you into the dirt like a bug, take your life’s work from you. All of the fear and the helplessness can’t be for nothing. You need to win, to beat them, or you’re scared you’ll be looking over your shoulder for the rest of your life. You don’t ever want to feel like that again.  
You hoist yourself tiredly to your feet and traipse over to the bathroom, turning on the shower. You eye yourself in the mirror while you wait for the water to heat up. You look exhausted and extremely bedraggled, but also somehow stronger. You can’t pinpoint what it is exactly, the set of your jaw, the darkness in your eyes, perhaps, but there’s something in your reflection that’s changed. You don’t know about being older or wiser, but you’ve definitely _grown_ since the last time you saw yourself in the mirror. It scares you.  
And at last the room is too steamy to hold eye contact with yourself any longer, and you strip and step into the shower. As the blood and grime swirls its way down your body and into the drain, you imagine all of your fear, all of your anxiousness going along with it. You try to relax your muscles and your breathing but something keeps putting you back on red alert.  
Anger. You are so angry. How dare they treat you like that? How dare they think they’re allowed to play with other human being’s lives as if they meant nothing? They need to pay. Clemens, that snivelling little roach Jackson, all of the nameless goons and Burton who raided your panty drawer and gave Sam his black eye.  
The anger feels safer than the fear, and you let it fuel you. It helps you through the stinging pain where the water is hitting your burned arm, and when you wash your hair too roughly, forgetting the bump on your head. When you’re clean you continue to stew in the shower for a little longer before you’re wracked with hunger again. Time to get out.  
You dry off and dress in some sweats before raking your fingers through your hair in a half-hearted attempt to look less unkempt. You slide your aching feet into your flip flops and decide that this is as presentable as you’re going to get. You grab your phone and keys and head out the door.

Victor Sullivan answers the door to Sam’s room when you knock. He lets you in with a smile and a nod. The room’s filled with the greasy smell of takeout and it’s like heaven. Sam’s sitting at the little table stuffing his face with pizza and you go to join him. He’s cleaned and bandaged up and you smile. There’s something about seeing him not covered in blood and dirt that makes you feel like everything is going to be just fine.  
Victor joins the two of you at the table and for the first few minutes you all eat in silence. Once you’ve staved off the worst of the hunger pangs, you turn to Sam.

“I’m sorry,” you say, wiping your mouth with a napkin.

He looks at you for a moment, confused, “What for?”

You sigh. “For everything- for needing rescuing in the water, for what I said to you in the crypt, for dragging you into this mess in the first place, and let’s see, I’m pretty sure it’s my fault that they found us in the first place, so…” you trail off, shoulders slumped.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, don’t be stupid. If anything, it should be me apologising. I knew what I was getting into when I took this job, more than you did, even. And what do you mean it’s your fault they found us?”

“I didn’t cover my tracks very well, did I? All Jackson would have had to do would be to call the museum and see if I’d shown up for work. They knew we were research partners, they’d see no reason not to tell him,”

To your surprise, it’s Victor who answers you. “Look, kid, we can all find a million reasons each and every day to beat ourselves up. I should’ve done this, I shouldn’t have said that, yadda yadda,” he looks to Sam, “Lord knows the two of us have done countless things we’re not proud of, but if we stopped to apologise for all of those things there’d be no time left for the things that really matter,”

“And what things are those?” you ask in a small voice.

He lights up a cigar, “Family, friends, the glint in a beautiful barmaid’s eye, and taking what’s yours from the hands of people who’d try to steal it from you,”

You think you get what he’s driving at. _Are you in or out? Are you going to stay and fight or go home and cry? Whichever it is, make your choice and stick to it. There’s no room for anything else._

“So, what’s the plan?”

Sam’s eyebrows raise in surprise, “What? You want to keep going?”

“Of course,” you nod firmly.

“Look, Y/N, you don’t have to let Victor’s little speech sway you, all right? No one’s gonna think less of you if you choose to back out now,”

“I would,” you say dryly, “I would definitely think less of me, but that’s not the point. Do you know how scared I was when I woke up and saw you covered in bruises? When they tied us up down there and left us in the dark?”

“I-“

“The answer is more scared than I’ve ever been in my fucking life, and that is exactly why I need to do this,”

He shakes his head, “I don’t get it,”

“I’m afraid that this fear is never going to go away unless I do this. I’ll be terrified for my whole life unless I can look back and say ‘it’s over, I’ve beaten it, I’ve beaten them,’”

Victor’s nodding along with you, “Well said, darlin,’”

Sam looks at you for a long moment before he nods too. “All right, then let’s do this,”

You allow yourself a small smile before returning to the matter at hand. “So, Lebanon. How are we getting there and when are we leaving?”

“I can fly you there if you give me some coordinates,” Victor says.

“No,” Sam shakes his head, “I’m pretty sure they know you’re involved now, they searched my phone. I think they’ll have eyes on the sky,”

“We could hire a boat?” You offer, “The site of the shrine is on the coast,”

Sam nods slowly, thinking. “Yeah, we could land somewhere down the coastline and then go the rest of the way on foot. We’ll have to sneak right under their noses,”

“I can do it,” you say firmly.

You’re not quite prepared for the smile that Sam flashes you. It makes you a little weak in the knees.

“We need to act fast. Y/N, you should go and rest. Victor and I will sort out the boat rental and we’ll leave first thing in the morning,”

“I think we should leave tonight,” you say as you get up to leave the room.

“Tonight it is,” Sam agrees.

 ****  
  
  
Sam

 

Sam lights up a cigarette as Y/N closes the door behind her.

“Quite a girl you’ve got there,” Victor says, taking a puff of his cigar. Smoking is probably prohibited inside the hotel, but they both shrug the idea off.

Sam chuckles to himself, “I didn’t know she had it in her. She’s a lot braver than I thought she’d be,”

Victor’s gazing at him knowingly, and he huffs.

“Would you stop that? I told you, nothing’s going on between us,”

“Oh, I think the lady doth protest too much,”

“I’m not even gonna pretend to know what that means,”

“It means you’re a lot more like your brother than you like to think, kid,”


	9. Chapter 9

** You **

You lie on the hotel bed, fully clothed, your veins thrumming with anticipation. Any moment now there’ll be a knock on your door, with the news that the boat is ready and that it’s time to go. The proverbial call to adventure, as it were.  
Earlier today you were a scared little girl, wandering somewhere she did not belong. Things are different now, you’re going into this thing with both eyes open. You know what to expect now and you’re ready for it. You just hope that your newfound resolve doesn’t wither away to nothing when the time comes.  
Your lust for revenge keeps you brave, as well as your lust for something else…

_Nope, not going there right now. Highly unprofessional, not to mention unrequited._

You try to keep your mind on the journey ahead, on what you can expect to find in Lebanon, you really do. Your heart has other ideas though, and keeps taking you back to the same topic over and over. Samuel Drake.  
Sam’s… really great, actually. He’s smart, you can tell from the snippets of conversations you’ve had about things not related to the job that there’s a wealth of knowledge hiding behind that roguish grin. He’s awfully charming almost to the point of exasperation, how many times now has he made you roll your eyes in derision, only to blush beet red a moment later? And we haven’t even got started on physicality! His face is a little worn around the edges, sure, but the effect isn’t off putting. If anything, the lines on his face only make him more attractive to you. Who knew you had a thing for older men? And then there’s his absolutely amazing body. He’s fit and strong and you’ve felt first-hand how those muscles feel rippling under his skin. He’s so…

_Literally just said not going there. As if he would be interested in me, anyway. No, I’m sure he’d want someone much more interesting._

You can picture Sam with any number of women, none of them like you. He’ll have some world renowned historian in one corner of the globe, sophisticated and sexy, able to match every ounce of his charm and wit with her own. She doesn’t blush, ever.  
Then there’ll be some exotic beauty in a faraway land, waiting for him to return to her arms like he promised he would. Maybe he does on occasion, when the wind’s blowing just right and the scent of jasmine is in the breeze.  
There are women in the treasure hunting business, too. Women like Chloe Frazer, strong and fierce and capable. Women who help Sam instead of the other way around or, at the very least, are able to keep up with him. Not like you, you always seem to drag him down to rescue you.  
You think of yourself, so astoundingly _normal._ You know you’ve got some brains, and you’re not the worst person in the world to look at, but that doesn’t seem nearly enough for you to hold someone like Sam’s interest.

 _Great, now I have a crush on a man I’m literally paying to hang out with me_ and _I have self-esteem issues too apparently._

And of course there’s the fact that he likes to call you ‘kid’. Not really the sexiest nickname there is. Although for a little while you got things like ‘princess’ and ‘darling’, but you’re not entirely sure you’re remembering correctly; the whole day has been a bit of a blur. Maybe…

Three sharp raps on the hotel door make you bolt upright on the bed, effectively pulling the emergency brake on your train of thought. You scoot over to open the door and you’re met with the conductor himself.

“Are you ready to go?” Sam says, leaning on the doorframe in such a way that says effortless sex appeal. You wonder if you could pull off such casual grace, and you give it a try, leaning on the opposite door jamb in what you hope is a sultry manner. Sam gives you a weird look and you stop quickly, standing normally again.

“Yeah, I’m all packed,” you nod, avoiding his eyes and instead eyeing up his current attire. He’s wearing some sports team T-shirt with a plaid shirt over it, unbuttoned. It’s the least offensive thing you’ve seen him in so far. The colours even kind of match.

“Well, the boat’s all ready and we should really get going. Victor says a storm’s on the way,”

“Perfect,” you sigh, grabbing your bag that has only the essentials, and following Sam out the door.

“It’ll give us some cover at least,” he says, shrugging. “How are you feeling?”

What a question. “Good, I think,” you say, “determined. Before my motivation was recognition by my peers and all the accolades that come with that, and I don’t know if that gave me enough fire to do what I needed to. But now…” You trail off, trying to find the words.

“Now it’s personal,” Sam supplies, and gosh, now you’re finishing each other’s sentences, aren’t you just the cutest?

“That’s exactly it,” you nod, “now I want to find that girdle so that they can’t have it,”

“I think you’ll find that to be much more motivational,” he says darkly and you can just tell from the look on his face that he knows what he’s talking about.

The two of you take the elevator down, and as you step out into the dark night air, you leave behind the timid bookworm you were mere hours ago, and prepare yourself to become… something else.

  
  
  
“You two kids be safe out there,” Victor says, puffing another cigar as he stands on the dock and bids you farewell. He’s going to be staying behind, in case something goes wrong and he needs to swoop in and save your asses again.

“We will, Victor, don’t you worry,” Sam says breezily from his position behind the steering wheel of the little rented yacht.

“And keep your damn radio on!”

“I’ll make sure he does,” you say warmly, and then the boat’s rumbling beneath you and you’re heading out into the dark water.

 ****  
  
  
Sam

“It’s going to take about three or four hours, but if we keep heading southeast, we should land right between Beirut and Tyre,”

“And that’s good?”

“Yes, from there it’s a short-ish hike to Maghdouché, the site of the shrine,”

“And you know your way around, right?”

“Mostly,”

“Good enough,”

Y/N hums in agreement, pulling her jacket closer around her as she huddles into the seat. It’s still summer but the night air whipping past them as they cut through the dark water is as cold and unforgiving as the ocean itself.

The excitement’s back, boiling his blood and making him feel powerful. Y/N’s fledgling tenacity is a development he did not expect, but it’s a welcome one. The hardness he sees in her eyes now is a little guilt-inducing, but also comforting; it will serve her a lot better on the job than her doe-eyed wonder from before.

“So what do you think will happen when we get there?” She says quietly. He almost doesn’t hear her over the engine of the boat.

“Well, from my experience, there’s usually two ways this kinda thing could go down. One, we sneak in, slow and quiet, and while they’re busy looking in all the wrong places, we get our hands on the treasure and make a break for it,”

“Okay, stealthy. What’s option two?”

“Well, uh, the opposite. We go in hard and noisy, guns blazing, that kind of thing. You’d be surprised how often that works, these guys have the aim of Stormtroopers, I swear,”

She smiles at the joke and it warms his heart. _If nothing else, I’m still good at playing the clown._

“I think we should take our chances with option one, but that’s just me,” she says dryly.

“You got it, princess,”

He’s not sure why, but the cutesy pet name just slips out. Is it so he can see her blush like a schoolgirl only to snort and roll her eyes? Is it because she’s so delicate and soft and prim where he’s tough and hard and crass? Maybe he’s anointing himself her knight in shining armour, swearing to lay his life down to protect her? He always has had a flair for the dramatic.  
It would help if she wasn’t just so darn cute. He knows he shouldn’t be thinking of her like that- she’d kill him, for one thing- she’s a fully grown woman, she’d want words like ‘brilliant’ and ‘strong’ and ‘beautiful’ associated with her. She is all of those things, he realises with stark clarity, but there’s something about how small her frame feels next to his that makes him want to hold her close and squeeze her tight and never let go. And _that_ , friends, is terrifying.  
Often (but not always) due to circumstances beyond his control, he’s been a love ‘em and leave ‘em type. The fact that he’s actually interested to really get to know her better is pretty disconcerting. Then of course, there’s the huge age gap, although Victor, dirty old man that he is, didn’t seem to think much of it.

  
  
  
“So how old is she, anyway?”

“If she’s too young for me she is certainly too young for you, you old pervert,” Sam had said as the two of them looked over the yacht they had rented.

“I was talking about the boat,” Victor said, eyebrow raised and eyes gleaming wickedly.

“Yeah, right,” Sam snorted, “and, uh, _Y/N_ is twenty-eight,”

Victor paused for a minute before cracking into a shit-eating grin, “She’s not too young for you, boyo,”

“You’ve said that already,”

“You wanna know one of the few rules I live by?”

“No, but I feel like you’re gonna tell me anyway,”

“Half your age plus seven,”

“What?”

“That’s the youngest you can date without it being weird, half your age plus seven,”

Sam did the math in his head, half of forty-two plus seven…

“Well, shit,” he said, lighting a cigarette so he wouldn’t have to say any more than that.

  
  
  
So, coming to terms with the fact that she’s attractive and not too young for him, Sam peers at Y/N from the corner of his eye, wondering what it is that draws him to her so. After all, there are plenty of hot women out there who are not too young for him.  
He knows what it is, of course. She’s just like him, in a way. There’s an emptiness inside of her, a need to prove herself, that he knows only too well. His big victory was bittersweet and he doesn’t want that for her. He can tell how much this all means to her by the way her voice changes when she’s talking about Aphrodite, full of passion and excitement. It reminds him vividly of himself, telling the story of Henry Avery to anyone who would listen. He wants to help her achieve her goal, because maybe, just maybe, that’ll make up for some of the hurt he caused chasing pirate treasure.

“So, what were you doing when Chloe called you about this job?” Y/N pipes up, saving him just as his thoughts start to turn dark.

“I was staying with my brother and his wife for a few days,”

“I didn’t know you had a brother,” she says, “older or younger?”

“Younger. His name’s Nathan,”

“Nathan Drake… I feel like I know that name,”

“Of course you do,” Sam mumbles under his breath. He loves his brother, of course, but the rules of sibling rivalry decree that he must strive to outshine him.

“Wait, your brother is Nathan Drake the explorer? How did I not know this already?” The excitement in her voice is slightly irritating. The guy had fifteen years on Sam, all right?

“Yeah, yeah, he’s found a lost city or two,” Sam drawls, shrugging, a tight smile on his face.

“Still,” Y/N says, elbowing Sam in the ribs and looking up at him conspiratorially, “how many mythical girdles has he discovered? I’ll bet none,”

“Which is the same number as us, so don’t get cocky,” Sam laughs, his smile growing into a real one. She’s a keeper, all right.


	10. Chapter 10

** You **

  
“Keep an eye out for the Coastguard,” Sam says, “we don’t really want to deal with them if we can help it,”

You almost squeak at the thought of crossing international waters illegally, but you swallow it down. “Roger that,” you say, nodding.

As far as you can tell, the you’re the only ones on the ocean this stormy night. The wind’s picked up over the last couple of hours and rain pelts the yacht’s windshield, but the water’s not so choppy that you feel unsteady in your seat. The boat’s headlights illuminate a short distance ahead of you, enough for Sam to dodge any rocks or debris should he have to, but there’s not much in the way of things to look at.

Now that the immediate excitement of sailing on the ocean in the middle of the night has had time to wear off, you’re actually starting to get bored, and there’s still so much of the Mediterranean Sea between you and your destination.

“You helped to recover the Tusk of Ganesh a few months ago, right?” What’s the use in sitting here bored when easily the most intriguing man you have ever met is sitting just across from you?

“You could say that,” Sam relaxes into his seat slightly, “it was mostly all them, really- Chloe and Nadine, I mean,”

“You don’t need to be Mr. Modest,” you say, waving your hand in dismissal, “we’ve got a long ride ahead of us, the least you can do is entertain me with a story,”

He quirks an eyebrow at you, grinning, “I guess I have a story or two I could tell,”

 

Less than five minutes later you’re laughing your ass off. “And he believed you were an expert when you couldn’t even pronounce ‘Hoysala’ correctly?” you say after you catch your breath.

Sam chuckles to himself, “He bought it for a while, yeah. Although, when he found out he’d been had, he was _not_ pleased,”

You suck in a breath, “What did he do to you?”

“Oh, the usual. Kept me handcuffed, forgot to feed me every now and then, roughed me up a little,” he lights up a cigarette before continuing, “and when Chloe and Nadine came to rescue me, he trapped us all inside a flooding chamber while he made off with the Tusk. We almost drowned,”

“Oh my god, how did you get out of that?” You’re literally on the edge of your seat, hanging off his every word.

“Uh, with a lock pick, a big rock, and a fuck load of luck,” he shrugs, “that’s usually how it goes,”

You try not to let that thought scare you. You remind yourself that Sam won’t ever let anything happen to you if he can help it. You smile softly without meaning to.

“I’m glad you’re so lucky,” you say, still smiling.

Sam looks over to you and there’s an answering little smile on his lips too. You hold each other’s gaze for just a moment before he turns back to focus on steering the boat. He has nice eyes.

He clears his throat, “So, uh, what about you? How did you end up here? What’s the deal with that Jackson guy?”

“Oh that guy? We met in the university library a couple of years ago, we were both looking at books in the same section and ended up getting into a conversation about Athena and Arachne, somehow,”

“Don’t tell me, I got this- Goddess of Wisdom and… something to do with spiders?”

“She was the first spider, actually. She was originally mortal but then Athena was jealous of her superior weaving skills and cursed her for her sleight,”

“I thought Athena cursed Medusa and turned her into a gorgon?”

You shrug, “What can I say? Athena was not to be trifled with,”

Sam chuckles warmly, “So why Aphrodite then? Why not Athena?”

You think about it for a moment, but there’s only one reason that comes to you, “I don’t know, but ever since I was little I just thought she was really cool,” you grin at the childish admission.

“I can respect that,” Sam says, nodding, “so, you and Jackson became partners?”

“We met a few more times and he asked me why I was always in the library. I told him about the girdle and how I thought I might be able to actually find it. He was strangely interested right away, which should have been my first clue, but it was just nice to have someone to talk to who didn’t think I was crazy,”

“The professors didn’t think much of your theories then?”

“They did not. And he just seemed so harmless, too, he’s just a massive dork really. I can’t believe this is where we’ve ended up,”

“Hey, it’s not the end yet. Anything could happen,”

You stiffen, “Are you suggesting I’m not still going to hate his guts by the end of this?”

“I’m just saying, that Clemens guy is obviously calling the shots, he’s probably got something on Jackson,”

That makes you bristle, “He got himself into this mess, and he dragged me into it too. He deserves whatever he gets,”

“Well yeah, but-“

“He left us to die,” you say through gritted teeth, anger flaring through you. Why is this guy so chill about _everything?_ Does he ever take anything seriously?

“Hey, let’s just drop it, yeah? Talk about something else,” Sam says, sighing.

“Fine,” you say, trying not to sound too snippy. You huff (only a little) and look off to the side, away from Sam, and look out onto the dark ocean, squinting at what you see there. “Hey, do you see that? Is that the Coastguard?”

Sam whips his head around to see what you’re looking at, “Shit, it could be. I’ll kill the lights, maybe it’ll pass,”

Your heartrate’s picking up already, your body switching over into danger mode as the yacht is swallowed up by the darkness and suddenly the only thing you can see is the little light bobbing on the water in the distance that means there’s another boat out here with you.

“If we just keep moving carefully and slowly they might not notice us,” Sam says lowly, squinting out into the dark ahead of you.

“Please don’t capsize us,” you whisper, as if the mystery boat can hear you.

“Please, give me some credit. We’re not going fast enough to do any damage even if I do hit something,”

You purse your lips but say nothing, looking back out at the lights on the water which are startlingly closer than before.

“It’s coming this way,” you breathe.

Sam curses under his breath and pulls out a gun from the back of his pants.

“What, you’re going to shoot the Coastguard?” You hiss incredulously. Is everything in this business solved with the barrel of a gun?

“Uh, darlin’, I don’t think that’s the Coastguard,” he says, going to the back of the boat where the supplies are and strapping a holster to his lower back. “Take the wheel for me, would ya?”

He says it so conversationally that you obey, getting both of your hands on the steering wheel before realising one glaring problem. “Sam? I don’t know how to drive a boat!”

“Just relax, it’s no different than driving a car,”

“That sounds like a blatant lie,”

“Well I hope you’re a fast learner then, cause you’re about to be engaged in your first ever boat chase,”

“What?”

“Yeah, so if you could speed up a little that would be great,”

You crane your neck around to see him and your stomach twists a little when you see he’s taking cover behind the side of the yacht, gun drawn. You look out and see the lights from the not-Coastguard, closer than a moment ago and drawing ever closer with speed. You gulp and turn back to the task at hand.  
There isn’t a gas pedal, for a start. There are all different levers and switches on the dashboard. Your eyes have adjusted to the dark somewhat, but the gathering stormclouds are hiding the moon and stars more often than not and you can’t make head or tails of what you’re supposed to do.

“Sam?”

“You can turn the lights on, Y/N, they already know where we are,”

“Sure, okay,” a beat passes, “and which switch would that be?”

“The one above your head will turn the dashboard light on, then you should be able to tell which is for the headlights,”

You reach up and sure enough, your fingers find a switch above you. You flip it and suddenly you’re blinded by the golden glow of the dashboard light. Now you can see all the little icons and symbols on the switches and levers.

_I fucking wrote the book on symbolism, I can do this._

You hit the switch with the little lightbulb emblazoned on it and hope for the best. The little expanse of sea in front of the boat is aglow with artificial light.

“I found the lights!”

“I’m real proud of you, but we got a situation here! Drive!”

“Right. Roger that,” The big lever on the side looks kind of like the gear changer on an automatic car so you push it forwards gently into what you hope is drive. You can hear the engine begin to rumble louder and the boat picks up speed a lot quicker than you expected. You grip the wheel in ten-and-two and squint out ahead of you, trying not to get you both killed. You reach up and turn off the dashboard light so you can see better, and an eerie sort of tunnel vision descends over you. Nothing else exists except you and the yacht, the storm is silent around you, the raindrops fall as if in slow motion, and even the _pop_ of gunfire behind you doesn’t break your concentration. By the light of the built-in glow in the dark compass, you make sure you’re still going southeast, and you ramp up the speed a little more, really getting a feel for the steering of the boat.

The wind blows the clouds away from the moon for a few moments, and you can see the ocean around you a little better for it. To your left there’s a huge formation of rocks, almost like a little island. You don’t remember seeing anything like that on the map, and you give it a wide berth. Your one job is to not. crash. the. boat.

 

  
  
Sam

  
Pirates. Fucking god damn pirates. Well, Sam supposed it _could_ be Clemens’ men, but there was no way they could tell in the darkness who they were shooting at, and they didn’t seem overly concerned with finding out. He didn’t know for sure, but he thought that Clemens’ thugs had slightly more finesse than just attacking any boat on sight in the hopes that it might be him and Y/N.

Speaking of Y/N, she’s making _quite_ the getaway driver. He’s impressed, she continues to surprise him at every turn.

The enemy boat is close enough now that Sam can hear them shouting and hollering. Definitely pirates. He pops a few shots at them from behind cover but he knows they’re gaining on him and Y/N and the two of them are most certainly outnumbered. He’s running out of options here. The pirates have a faster boat and a more skilled person sailing it.

_Think, think._

Lightning cracks across the sky, brightening the dark ocean for just a moment. It’s just one moment, but it’s enough for Sam to start putting a plan together. There’s some rocky outcropping to the left of their boat that he thinks they’ll be able to climb. Now, to get Y/N to agree…

“Hey,” he rushes to the front of the boat where she is, “we need to abandon ship,”

“What?” she looks at him with wide eyes.

“They’re gonna shoot us full of holes if we keep on like this,”

“But we’re in the middle of the ocean,”

“I think we can make it over there,” he points to the rocky little island, “you up for another swimming lesson, princess?”

Her mouth hangs open for a second before she clenches her teeth, swallowing. “And this is the only way?”

“Well, unless you want to be taken captive by pirates. I don’t think I need to tell you what to expect if that happens,”

“Oh god, alright, what do we do?”

“Leave the headlights and the accelerator on, when we’re a little closer to the island we jump overboard, all right?”

“And hope they keep following the boat and don’t notice us?”

“Pretty much,”

She nods, as if to herself more than him, and meets his eyes. “Why is it that whenever we go anywhere I end up cold and wet?”

He shrugs, “Yeah, well, next time look for something that’s hidden in a desert,”

It’s almost time. Just a few seconds more. He stands on the edge of the boat, Y/N beside him, and they both look down into the stormy water below. To be honest, he doesn’t really want to go in there, so he can only imagine how she’s feeling about it.

Oh well, no more time for uncertainties.

“Now!” He yells, and launches himself over the side of the boat.


	11. Chapter 11

** You **

It’s cold. It’s so cold. Somehow for the second time in as many days you’re swimming desperately through the stone cold night-waters of the Mediterranean. This time there’s the added challenge of a storm angrily whipping the water as you’re trying to haul yourself through it. You’re guided only by the occasional flash of lightning, where you can realign yourself with the mass of rocky cliffs that gets steadily bigger as you approach. Sam’s out here with you somewhere, you think, but keeping yourself moving through the churning water is taking all of your concentration. You hope he’s okay. The boat of pirates (you’re still having trouble believing this is real life) seem to have taken your bait for now, and the two of you really need to get out of the water before they find your yacht empty.  
The water starts to get more shallow as you get up close to the island, and you find yourself hoping for another bolt of lightning to show you where you can climb up onto land.

“Y/N? Y/N, where are you?” Sam’s voice, chopped up by the wind, but somewhere nearby.

“I’m here!” You call back, finding that you can actually wade through the shallow water now. You bring up your hands to shield your eyes from the rain and look around desperately for your partner.

“Y/N, up here!”

Instinctively you look up, only to find Sam on a ledge above you, arm outstretched for you to grab onto.

“You’re too high up!”

“Just jump, I got you!”

You move closer through the heavy water, looking up and trying to determine if you can jump high enough to grab his hand. How the hell did he get up there, anyway?

“Y/N, come on!”

“Stop rushing me!” You yell, before doing the best jump you can manage from standing still in calf-deep water. You reach up and grip onto Sam’s bicep with all the strength you can muster, and with much more ease than you were expecting you are hauled up over the rocks until you lay beside Sam, soaked by the rain and panting.

“Are you all right?” Sam says, leaning over you and looking into your eyes.

“I’m fine,” You nod, thinking that you’d enjoy this staring contest a lot more if you weren’t so exposed to the elements.

“Here,” he stands and offers you his hand. He pulls you to your feet on the slippery rock. “There’s a cave over here, come on,”

You follow him, feeling the achy weariness of your body already making itself known. He ducks under an overhang of rock and you do the same, finding yourself in a pitch black cavern of indeterminable size.  
There’s a _clink_ and then Sam’s face swims into view, bathed golden by the flame of his lighter.

“What do we do now?”

From the way the flame moves, you assume he shrugs. “Wait for the storm to pass, I guess,”

Your _and then what?_ goes unasked and you opt for a heavy sigh instead.

“Come over here,” he says softly, sitting down and leaning his back against the cool stone wall.

“Okay,” you say, just as quietly, moving towards the light and then sinking down to sit beside him.

He flicks the lighter closed and the two of you are plunged into solid darkness. “I don’t want them to see the light,” he says in explanation. “Are you cold?”

“Freezing,” you nod, even though he can’t see you.

“Y/N, I swear this isn’t a line, but we should stick close together for warmth,”

Your cheeks are suddenly warm enough to heat the whole cave, but it’s not embarrassment that warms them. You hide your anticipation with a wry laugh, “Are you hitting on me? Because I have to say your timing is god awful,”

He laughs too, and you’re so close you can feel his body moving with it, “Oh, honey, when I hit on you, you’ll know about it,”

“When?” you can’t help yourself.

“What?”

“You said ‘when I hit on you’, not _if_. Should I be expecting some grand romantic gesture or-“

“Just shut up and come here before we both freeze our asses off,” he says gruffly, throwing an arm around your shoulders and pulling you in closer.

“All right, all right,” you surrender, leaning in to him. Even through the two layers of clammy clothing, your bodies react to one another and you feel comfortably warm where you’re pressed together. He’s a sturdy presence at your back, and you wish there was enough light to see him. With his clothes soaking wet you bet the sight is _filthy_.  
You’re startled by the boldness of your thoughts. There’s something about the darkness that surrounds you that makes it seem okay to think such things right next to the man in question. The sound of his breath seems amplified in the blackness, and for some reason it’s making you antsy. You wonder if he can tell.

“It’s gonna be okay, Y/N,” he says in your ear, mistaking your restlessness with panic. He starts rubbing what he must think are soothing circles into your back, “you can relax, don’t worry about it,”

How can you possibly relax with him petting you like this? In the darkness you’re able to admit to yourself that you’ve got a full blown crush on this guy; he’s handsome, he’s smart, he’s funny, he’s got an amazing body (from what you’ve seen, anyway), and now he’s got his hands all over you like he’s at a freaking petting zoo.

“I’m fine,” you say, but it comes out choked up and not believable at all, only making him more concerned for you.

“Honestly, Y/N, it won’t seem so bad once the storm’s over. You’ll see,”

“I’m _fine,_ ” you grind out, and surprising as it is, it’s true. You’re uncomfortable and stressed and tired, but you’re not panicking. You’ve become so jaded so fast, it seems.

Sam removes his hands from your back, “All right. Sheesh, I was trying to be comforting,”

You lean back against his chest by way of apology, “Sorry, it just annoys me a little when you treat me like a china doll. If I say I’m okay, I’m okay. Believe me, you’ll know about it the moment I’m not,”

He sighs on the back of your neck, making the little hairs there stand on end. “You’re right. I just worry about you, that’s all. It’s kind of my job,”

“I know, I know, but I think I gave you kind of an impossible task; keep me safe while also leading me through danger at the same time,” you shrug up against him, “but hey, I still have all of my limbs, so you must be doing something right,”

Your inner high school girl is practically _squee_ ing with delight at the thought of him worrying about you, but thankfully you’re a tad more mature than that and you realise that that’s literally what you’re paying him for. Or, what you _will_ pay him for, when you get the girdle. Whatever.

“I’m not just talking about keeping you alive,” he says, his voice low like he’s telling you a secret, “I know this isn’t how you expected things to go, and I’m just wondering how you’re keeping it all together. When I met you, a loud noise was enough to stress you out, and now-“

“Now, what?”

“You’re… tougher, somehow. I just want you to know you don’t have to keep up this façade for my sake, I won’t lose any respect for you if you show weakness,”

You frown, not sure what to say to that. “Why are you telling me this? You barely know me, how do you know what’s a façade and what’s my real face?”

He’s silent for a moment. “I just have a history of putting other people’s feelings aside in order to get what I wanted. It was never worth it, so I just wanted to make sure you’re not putting yourself aside to get something that you think you want. No treasure’s worth dying over,”

You don’t answer. You have no idea where to even begin. He has a history of using people? What does that mean? You realise you know so little about the man you’re all cosied up with in the dark, miles from civilisation. You know he’s pretty much a professional thief crossed with a mercenary, that he’s killed more people than he can count, that he’s built like a god damn machine, but you don’t know why. You’ve told him how you ended up here, but you have no idea what choices Samuel Drake made in his life that led him to this point.

“I’m just talking shit, aren’t I? Did any of what I just said mean anything to you?” He says, laughing dryly.

“I think I understand what you were trying to say,” you say quietly, “but you have to know, this expedition is _everything_ to me. I’ve put _everything_ into this. My whole professional life is in the shit, all of the money my parents left to me has been sunk into this, and I haven’t been able to have a normal relationship for fucking years because I’ve been obsessed with finding Aphrodite’s fucking girdle,” you sigh, “if I don’t finish this, then I’ll have nothing left. I don’t even know who I am anymore if I don’t have this. Do you know what that feels like?”

You would _never_ open up to someone like this under normal circumstances, but the fact that neither of you can see each other makes it easier, it’s almost like you’re talking to yourself.

Sam whistles lowly.

“What?” you turn towards him even though you can’t see his face.

“Darlin’, you have pretty much word for word just described me. I lost thirteen years of my life chasing my own treasure, and when I got back that was all I cared about, I didn’t care who I had to hurt to get it,” he sighs sadly, “so believe me, I know how you feel,”

A million more questions than you already had about this man come bubbling to the surface. Where to even start?

“Thirteen years?” you decide to start with what you’re most curious about.

“I was in jail, in Panama,”

“Oh god, what did you do? Are you an axe-murderer-rapist?”

“No, no! God, nothing like that! It was uh… a job gone wrong. I ended up taking the fall for it- kinda literally actually- and I was stuck in that shithole for thirteen fucking years,”

“Jesus Christ,” you don’t really know what else to say.

“Yeah,” he clears his throat and wraps an arm around your middle. The touch feels tentative.

You feel like you know a little more about Sam, like some of the puzzle pieces are starting to fall into place. Thirteen years in prison in a foreign land, how does anyone go back to normal civilian life after that? It’s an awful lot of time to make up for, a lot of life to live, and it’s not like he’s exactly a young man anymore. Maybe throwing himself head first into death’s jaws again and again is the only way he feels like he’s really living? You have no idea.  
One thing you do know, though, is that your infatuation with the man has not been dampened at all by getting to know him better. No, you’re more fascinated by him than ever, and you wonder if there’s a chance that he feels the same way.

  

** Sam **

He has his arms around her, his left around her shoulders and his right around her side, hand lying flat against her stomach. The touch is surprisingly intimate in the dark and he wonders why she’s letting him do this.

_We’re just huddling for warmth, of course she wouldn’t see anything wrong with it. God damn it I’ve turned into Victor._

If she were ten years older (or if he were ten years younger), he’d have made a move on her by now for sure. There’s something about the age gap though that bothers him. After all, what could a young, beautiful, and intelligent woman see in an old, washed up has-been like him? Sure, maybe once this was all over the two of them would go to bed together, but what then? Promises to stay in touch that are never kept, dwindling phone calls back and forth until one of them just stopped answering? It would be familiar territory for him, but he doesn’t know if it’s quite enough for him anymore.

_Did staying with Nathan and Elena make me soft? Is Y/N my midlife crisis? Why couldn’t I just buy a sports car like every other balding loser my age?_

The storm continues to rage outside their little shelter, and Y/N yawns loudly.

“Would it be all right if I had a little sleep? I can’t seem to keep my eyes open,” she murmurs.

“Be my guest,” he says quietly, and soon enough she’s heavy on his chest, breathing deep and even.

_And once again I am resigned to be your pillow. At least I’m good for that, I guess._


	12. Chapter 12

** You **

There’s a beeping, and the crackling of static. A man’s voice, briefly, then gone like a dream. You stir from sleep, groggy and cold.

Sam?” You call out when you realise you’re alone, your voice echoing off the walls of the cave.

“Over here,” he steps into view, standing in the mouth of the cave, illuminated by the milky white morning light. It looks like it’s still early.

“What are you doing?” You heave yourself to your feet, aching all over. You stretch your arms up over head and groan at the popping in your joints.

He holds an object up for you to see. It’s the little hand-held radio from the boat that Victor made you swear to keep on hand. You’d totally forgotten about it up until this moment.

“Oh! Are you trying to contact Victor?”

“Been trying all night, but I couldn’t get through. I thought it was the storm, but it’s not working now. Piece of shit must be busted,” he huffs.

“I thought I heard something just now,”

“Yeah, every now and then a few words come through, but it’s all a garbled mess,” he groans and let the radio clatter to the ground.

You’ve not seen Sam this frustrated since the two of you argued beneath the Temple of Aphrodite, and it sets you a little on edge. You pick up the radio before he can decide to kick it into the ocean.

“So what’s next? Where even are we?” you say, fiddling with the buttons on the radio.

“I’ve no fucking idea and I’ve no fucking idea,” he says, “but we need to get off this rock,” in the cold light of morning he looks rough. The swelling on his black eye has come down some, but now both eyes hold bags of tiredness beneath them. The chivalrous burn mark on his arm had begun to heal, and now the blistered skin looks soggy from the impromptu dip in the ocean last night. You’re worried for him. No matter how much of a brave face he puts on, _no one_ can be calm and jovial in all situations.

“Are you okay?” you ask softly, approaching him and slowly raising a hand to lay on his shoulder.

He looks down at your hand where it’s touching him and then looks to you, a weird expression on his face, before he breaks into a warm smile. “Hey, I’m fine. Sorry for being grouchy, a night in a cave will do that to a man,” he brings his own hand up and squeezes yours before gently removing it from his shoulder.

You try not to frown, to show how the little rejection to your touch hurts you. He’s a big tough man, maybe he just doesn’t appreciate being comforted like that?

_Now who’s showing a façade and hiding their weakness? That smile doesn’t look real at all._

The two of you stand awkwardly for a moment before Sam clears his throat.

“I’m gonna check out the rest of the island, if it can even be called that,” he says, “you should stay here. Keep trying to get through to Victor on that damn radio. I won’t be gone long,” he turns on his heel and starts walking away from you.

“Sam, wait!” you don’t even realise you’re going to call out to him until the words are out of your mouth.

He stops and looks over his shoulder at you and your heart seizes with some ineffable emotion. There’s just _something_ about him, standing there battle scarred and strong and handsome, that makes you wonder what it could be like to call him _yours_. He’s still looking at you expectantly.

“Just… be careful,” you cringe at how cliché you sound, but you don’t know what the words are to express what you really want to say.

“I will be,” is all he says, but he grins, and this time it reaches his eyes.

 

 

The day’s clearing up. The sun has finally come out in full force, and the sky’s a beautiful azure blue. It’s somewhere in the region of mid-morning. Maybe. You’ve discovered that you’re not very good at telling time without a clock nearby. The sun’s not passed directly above your head, so that mean’s it’s not noon yet. But still, it’s been a while since you’ve seen Sam. You didn’t think the island was big enough for it to take him this long.

_Where is this place? Undiscovered islands are scarce in the Mediterranean._

You suppose it’s more of a really big rock than an island, per se, but it probably still has a name, right?

So much of this little adventure of yours seems to consist of you waiting around for Sam to come back to you, but you don’t think it’s something you’ll ever be able to get used to. You know he’s strong and sly and sneaky, there’s no reason to worry about him. But you are.  
You’ve been fruitlessly tinkering with the little radio for a while, but there’s been nothing, not even a scrambled voice, and you’re really starting to feel how alone you are out here.  
Since Sam left, all you’ve heard is the lapping of the ocean waves on the rock, and the cries of the gulls as they fly over you, but now there’s something new. It’s a rumbling, somewhere not too far off. It’s not thunder. It’s a boat.  
You scramble further back into the cave, making sure you’re out of sight, your pulse pounding in your ears. Have the pirates found you at last? You lie still, listening as hard as you can, trying to figure out what might be happening. The boat’s definitely coming closer, and if you really strain your ears, you think you can hear men’s voices. You wish Sam was here.

_Fuck, Sam’s still out there. He’d better come back soon._

Minutes later and Sam still hasn’t returned. The men in the boat, however, seem to be right on top of you. You can hear them talking about the boat they caught last night and there’s a pit of dread lying heavy in your stomach. Fucking pirates.  
You stay there, clinging to the stone floor, for as long as you can possibly stand it.

 

 

  **Sam**

Sam knows he should have started heading back by now, Y/N must be worried, but he just needs some time to himself to _think_. They’ve found themselves in a right old mess again, and he needs to figure out a way to save them both.  
He’s battered and bruised, and Y/N knows it. She’s got enough on her plate without having to worry about him, and yet somehow she still finds it in her to try to comfort him. It’s nice and all, but he realised last night that he really needs to distance himself from her now. Last night, in that little cave isolated from the rest of the world, the storm hammering the stone outside, he’d let himself fantasize, just a little, of what it might be like if he and Y/N became something more.  
There would be more adventures, of that he’s certain- Y/N has a curiosity and a passion for knowledge that rivals even his own, and the two of them could no doubt have some really amazing times together. It would be really sweet to have the same partner for multiple trips, he can see himself creating a rapport with her unseen since the old days of treasure-hunting with Nathan.  
Aside from all of that, he just likes her. She’s kind, down to earth, she doesn’t take any of his shit. She’s too good for him, really. And therein lies the problem. Sam can’t and won’t drag her down with him. If that means having to be a little cold towards her until she backs off, then so be it. He’ll be fine. Water off a duck’s back.  
The humming of a boat’s motor pulls him out of his reverie. Without having to think about it, he throws himself down behind a raised part of the rocky cliff, listening.

_Fucking pirates._

They managed to sneak up on him while he was busy moping, and now he can hear them close by, almost to the shore. He’s climbed quite high up, digging his hands into crevices in the rock and shimmying along crumbling ledges, so there’s a lot of ground to cover to get back to the little cave where he left Y/N. He doesn’t think he’ll make it in time, certainly not without being spotted. He stays still, stays listening, his body taut like a jungle cat hiding in the brush.  
Amongst the sounds of the boat and the ocean, he can hear voices. As they get ever closer, he can pick out that there are only two men talking, back and forth. Of course there could be others, but quiet pirates? Not so common. He releases a breath and thinks that his chances have just improved drastically.  
Carefully, quietly, he slinks over to the edge and drops down, on the side of the island away from the pirates who are now coming ashore. If he can ambush them just right, it should be a piece of cake. He keeps making his way down to the lower levels, trying not to make a sound, trying to get to the men before they can get to Y/N. He can’t let that happen.

“We’re not gonna find anybody on this fuckin’ rock,”

“Will you just shut the fuck up and stop moaning,”

Sam wipes the sweat from his brow and reassesses his situation. He can see the mouth of the little cave across the rocks, not too far away. On his other side, just below him on a lower level, two men approach, stumbling clumsily over the uneven rocks, heading in the direction of the cave. In the direction of Y/N.  
They’re big, brawny, and armed to the teeth, the both of them. They’re deeply tanned, their skin darkened by days upon days of committing unsavoury acts under the Mediterranean sun. It’s kind of nostalgic in a way, seeing them. It reminds him of that time he and Nathan were goofing around off the coast of Chile and they ran into these Argentinian pirates… He wipes the wistful smile from his face and returns to the task at hand.  
They haven’t seen him yet, and he needs to use that to his advantage and act quickly. He decides to do what he does best- go balls to the wall and hope for the best. Still hanging just above their heads, he unhooks his gun from its holster and lines the sight up with the head of who we’ll call Pirate A. He squeezes the trigger and while the _bang_ is still echoing in the air, he lets go of the rocky ridge and he hits the ground at the same time as Pirate A’s lifeless body. He straightens up and _bang_ , Pirate B is dead before he’s even realised he was under attack.

_Fuck yeah. Still got it._

 

 

  **You**

Your skin prickles up into goosebumps at the first pop of gunfire. The second shot spurs you into motion and you crawl along the cave floor to peek outside, praying that you won’t see Sam’s bullet-hole ridden corpse broken on the rocks.  
Sam’s out there, alright, but he’s very much alive! In fact… is he doing a fist pump? You smile and shake your head at him, the stupid, stupid, gorgeous man. You spring to your feet, and the added height lets you see something else, something that wipes the smile straight from your face.  
A huge, lumbering ogre of a man is crunching his way over the stones towards Sam, practically upon him already and he’s holding a fucking machete.  
Sam’s heard him coming too, finally, and he turns to face the giant man. You’re torn between wanting to call out to Sam, and not wanting to distract him, so you can only look on in horror as he fires his gun for the third time.

 

 

  **Sam**

Pirate C, the big bastard, doesn’t even seem to notice the bullet Sam just put in his shoulder. He keeps on lurching forwards and swings one of his thick arms surprisingly fast into Sam’s chest, knocking him backwards. He manages to stay upright, just barely, and then ducks swiftly to avoid the machete swung at his head.  
He needs to get some distance; all he has is his gun and it’s no good in such close quarters. He takes a few steps backwards, hopping out of reach of the machete again and again. Visibly frustrated at his elusive target, Pirate C roars and barrels into Sam like a freight train, knocking his gun flying and slamming him hard into the rocky ground.

_I’m too old for this shit._

 

 

  **You**

You try not to squeal when you see Sam get hurt, but a whimper escapes you. You’re certainly no good in a fight, you’re more likely to hinder than help, you know that, but you really can’t sit here in the cave any longer. You force your frozen limbs to move and your mind goes almost completely blank when you see Sam’s discarded gun lying innocently near your feet. You know what you have to do.

 

 

  **Sam**

Pirate C throws his machete to the side, seeming to prefer using his bare hands. He wraps his huge meaty paws around Sam’s throat and squeezes. As Sam writhes and struggles, the bastard grins widely, showing uneven, discoloured teeth. When he opens his mouth wider, Sam sees why he went unheard until now; he’s had his tongue cut out.  
The beast of a man hauls Sam up by his throat, and he can feel his legs dangling uselessly in the air. He tries to gather enough force for a kick, when he’s dropped suddenly.

A shot rings through the air, and after a moment’s pause, several more. The gun keeps firing until all he can hear are the little clicks that mean the magazine is empty. Pirate C crumples before him as he kneels there, gasping for breath. He turns his head to see his saviour, and it’s Y/N, her face as white as a sheet and Sam’s pistol wobbling in her shaking hands.

The gun clatters uselessly to the ground, and then, besides the soothing sounds of the water, there is silence.


	13. Chapter 13

** You **

From what you’ve seen in movies and games, you should be crying and screaming right now. You should be feeling sick to your stomach, maybe falling onto your hands and knees and throwing up all over the ground.

But you’re not.

You feel cold and sort of… empty inside. You swallow thickly. Suddenly you don’t know what to do with your hands. You wrap your arms around yourself, just so they’re not hanging uselessly by your sides.

Sam gets to his feet and approaches you slowly, like you’re a spooked deer. His eyes are wide with surprise but all together he just looks sad. You already can’t stand it. You let him walk right up to you, you even let him sweep you up and hold you into his chest. What you simply _can’t_ abide, however, is when he noses through your hair and whispers into your ear, “It’s okay, Y/N. It’s all going to be okay,”

You struggle out of his grasp, “No it isn’t. Not for him at least,” you gesture to the… _corpse_ of the giant man.

Sam grips your shoulders and looks deep into your eyes like he has done so many times before, “Listen to me, Y/N. You saved my life, okay? If you hadn’t done what you did, he would have killed me, and then he would have done much worse to you. You didn’t have a choice,”

“I know that,” you say quietly, “stop coddling me,”

He frowns at you, but he removes his hands from your shoulders. “Are you okay?”

You sigh, squeezing your eyes shut so that no tears can escape, “No, Sam, I’m not okay. I just shot and killed a man. It was horrible. The bastard wouldn’t go down so I had to keep firing and firing…” He moves like he’s going to hug you again and you hold your hand up to stop him. “I know it was necessary, I know it was the right thing to do, but it was horrible and it’s something that’s going to stay with me, probably for the rest of my life,” you square your shoulders and look him straight in the eyes, “but we don’t have time to worry about that now. As we speak, Jackson and Clemens are bumbling around Maghdouché and eventually they’re going to stumble upon my girdle,”

Sam’s mouth opens and closes a little like he can’t quite decide what to say. “What? You’re still wanting to go to Lebanon?”

Your face feels hot. “Of course,”

He’s looking at you like you’re crazy, “Y/N, this has gone way too far. I don’t think you’re thinking clearly here, we should cut our losses and get you home safe and sound,”

“Cut our losses? Sam, it’s exactly _because_ it’s gone this far that we need to see it through to the end!”

“It’s not worth it, Y/N! No treasure is worth losing yourself over!”

“I can’t let the blood on my hands be for nothing, I just can’t. Don’t you understand?”

“Of course I understand! Y/N, I’ve been exactly where you are now,”

You hold yourself tighter and look to Sam, “And what did you do?”

He clenches his jaw and looks away from you, “I didn’t let anything get in my way. I double-crossed my partner, and I lied to my brother to get him to leave his wife and come treasure hunting with me. I killed almost an entire army-for-hire. I put my brother, his wife, and Victor in danger over and over and over. I just… didn’t know when to stop,”

“So now you do, is that it?”

“ _Yes._ I’m telling you as someone that knows; _it’s not worth it,_ ”

You swallow. “Maybe for you it’s not, but I have to do this. I can’t give up now. Not now, I’ve come too far,”

“Y/N-“

“I’m going to Lebanon, Sam. With or without your help,” you hope he doesn't call your bluff.

He scowls, “Fine. Have it your way,” he turns and starts heading down towards the shore, “We should get out of here before more pirates show up,”

You blow out a long breath. That did _not_ go well. You really wish Sam hadn’t fought you on this, now that you need him more than ever. But as much as it pains you to have him look at you with such disdain, it’s preferable to him smothering you in sweet nothings. You can’t stand him comforting you, treating you like you’re broken, because all that does is remind you that you’ve done something awful and you should feel bad.  
And the thing is… you don’t feel guilty. Or rather, you feel guilty about _not_ feeling guilty. How ever horrible it was to do the deed itself, you know in your heart that that man had to die for you and Sam to live. Now that it’s done, it’s just an unpleasant experience that you want to move on from. You know there’s something wrong with you, you feel like a monster. The person you were when you set out on this journey is as dead as the pirate you killed. The last piece of her was shattered away when you fired the first bullet in that gun. You weren’t lying when you told Sam that there was blood on your hands and that it needed to mean something, you just didn’t tell him that that blood was yours. You can’t let the fact that you’ve become this unfeeling _thing_ be for nothing, you owe it to the girl who spent her life dedicated to researching the Greek goddess of beauty. If you go home now as this hollow husk of yourself, you know you’ll regret it much more than what happened this day.  
Maybe, just maybe, when you gaze upon Aphrodite’s girdle in all its beauty, you’ll feel that sense of fulfilment, and you’ll know that everything was worth it. Maybe then you’ll start to feel like your old self again.  
Last night in the cave seems so long ago now. It was like a different world then, where it was okay to think and feel. There’s no place for any of that now, you need to get your head in the game and keep it there. You and Sam will go to Lebanon, and maybe after you get what you came for you’ll just get over yourself and ask him out.  
Sam’s warning is still ringing in your ears as you pick up his gun and tuck it into the back of your pants, but you tell yourself that things will be different for you. They have to be.

 

 

** Sam **

Sam’s heart is heavy as he climbs into the boat. It’s the boat they rented, a little more scuffed up and hole-ridden than when he paid for it but apparently still in working order. He can’t decide who he’s more pissed at; Y/N for being so fucking stubborn, or himself for allowing any of this to happen in the first place. He’s just going to be pissed at the both of them for good measure.  
He can’t hold a grudge against Y/N, he knows she must be in shock over what she’s just done. She killed a man, that’s probably not something that she ever expected she’d have to do in her life. But still, she’s being an ass about it. He tried to comfort her, she wouldn’t have it. He tried talking her around, she wouldn’t have it. He understands now how Nathan must have felt in Madagascar, she’s just as crazy as he himself was chasing after Avery’s treasure.  
She’s a big girl and she can make her own mistakes, sure, but he doesn’t have to like it. He also doesn’t have to like the way she dismissed him and his advice like he was completely irrelevant. He laid himself bare a little bit for her, he told her about how much of a shit person he’d been before and how he’s changed since then, hopefully for the better. She didn’t even bat an eye.  
She climbs into the boat behind him and he ignores her. He’s doing his best to keep his anger aimed inward, and for right now that means not looking at her. It doesn't help that seeing her floods him with some inordinate guilt. He just wants to shake some sense into her, make her see that she’s worth so much more than what some pompous professors think of her, and then squeeze her until there’s no room left between them for bad feelings, only the good. But he can’t.  
The spell the two of them where under last night in the dark is broken now in the beaming sun. However close they may have been then, they are miles and miles apart now, with neither one of them feeling brave enough to bridge the gap. He doesn’t go in for any of this touchy-feely crap anyway, he doesn’t understand why he’s getting so bent out of shape over some girl, and that just makes him more frustrated.

“I still have your gun,” she says, and when he turns around he sees she’s holding it out for him to take.

“Thanks,” he takes it and holsters it. Why is it so awkward to talk to her now?

“I used all the bullets,”

“Yeah, I know,” he looks through their supplies, most of which have been overturned and scattered across the floor of the boat, but thankfully not stolen. Finally he finds a box of ammo and reloads his gun before reholstering it.

“We should get moving,” her voice has a dull, lifeless quality to it.

“Right,” he turns from her and takes his place at the wheel. It’s going to be a long ride.

 

 

A couple of hours of silence later and Sam can see land on the horizon. Lebanon, he presumes. Ordinarily, he’d like to ask Y/N about this Maghdouché place, he knows precisely nothing about where they’re headed after all, but the idea of striking up a conversation with her right now makes him prickle with distaste. He knows sooner or later one of them will extend an olive branch to the other, but he’s not quite ready for it to be him yet.  
He’s saved from his internal disquiet by sizzling static. He whips his head around to see Y/N unhooking the little radio from her belt.

She holds the radio up to her face, “Hello? Victor? Can you hear me?”

“Y/N? Is that you, darlin? What the hell’s going on with you kids?” Its chopped up a little by the bad signal, but it’s definitely Victor’s voice.

“The radio’s been on the fritz, but we’re both okay,” she says. Sam holds his arm out to her and the movement catches her eye, “Sam wants to talk to you, I’ll pass you over,”

Sam turns back to focus on steering, and brings the radio close to his mouth. “Hey, Victor,”

“Sam? Where the hell are you two? I haven’t heard from you once since you left,”

“Calm down, old man. Don’t blow a gasket. Everything’s fine. We’re almost to Lebanon,”

“You haven’t got to Lebanon yet?”

“There was a slight uh-“ he chances a glance over his shoulder at Y/N, she’s leaning on the edge of the boat, gazing out to sea, “hiccup, but we’re back en route,”

“Why am I not surprised? Well, what happened?”

“It’s nothing, don’t worry about it,”

“Hmph. Fine, I’ll let you go. You look out for Y/N, you hear?”

“Of course,” Sam hooks the radio onto his pants, returning both hands to the steering wheel.

Once more the silence between them is thick and cloying. They’re almost to shore, the coastline is close enough now for him to be able to pick out details. Just as he’s resigning himself to the fact that he’s going to have to talk to Y/N before they land, she surprises him by walking over to stand by his side at the front of the boat. She looks resolutely ahead, not sparing him a glance.

“You see that hill over there?” She says, pointing, “That’s where we’re headed. Can we land anywhere near there?”

Sam follows her finger, seeing the raised area not too far inland. Conveniently, there’s a seemingly deserted strip of beach almost directly below, with rocks certainly big enough to hide the yacht behind. “Shouldn’t be a problem,”

She nods stiffly, “Do you think we’ll have a fight on our hands?”

He narrows his eyes, thinking of the bastards who broke her. “Oh, I’m counting on it,”


	14. Chapter 14

** You **

There it is. Our Lady of Awaiting. You think you can see the tower from here if you strain your eyes. Hope and excitement flutter quietly in the back of your mind, before the blanket of uneasiness wraps itself around you again, smothering all other feelings.  
Sam expertly slides the yacht through the large rocks near the shoreline, gliding into a little nook between two of them that will keep the boat hidden from most angles.  
Wordlessly, the two of you sort through your scattered supplies, looking for the things you want to take with you on land. You find the bag with the change of clothes for you and Sam, and you check that everything is still in there. Seems fine.

“I got everything, let’s go,” Sam says bluntly, not looking at you, “don’t get the bag wet,”

You don’t bother replying, and instead follow his lead and lower yourself into the chest-high water, holding the duffel bag high above your head and wading slowly towards the little beach. You traipse up through the pebbles and sand, making your way to a little copse of trees and shrubs so you can change your clothes in relative privacy. You towel yourself off and then strip and redress in record time, your back turned to Sam as he does the same behind you. Your cheeks don’t even tinge pink. You pull your hair back into a ponytail again, hoping that it’s not too greasy. Sam clears his throat and you turn to him.

“Here,” he’s holding two protein bars in one hand and a bottle of water in the other.

“Thanks,” it’s more of a grunt than a word. You take the proffered rations and tear into one of the bars immediately.

Sam lowers himself to the ground as he downs his bottle of water.

“We should get moving,” you say, frowning.

“Just give me a minute, will you?” he stuffs a protein bar into his mouth while pulling a roll of gauze from his backpack.

_Oh._

He’s got some new scrapes from his scuffle with the Big Bastard, and the burn on his arm needs some attention. You’ve almost forgotten about the matching mark on your own skin, it doesn’t hurt at all anymore, in fact it’s pretty much healed.  
You watch him awkwardly start to wrap up his arm and you sigh. He raises an eyebrow at you uneasily as you kneel down before him.

“Let me help,” you say quietly, looking down at your lap.

There’s a moment where you’re sure he’s going to refuse, before he pushes the roll of bandages into your hands. You look up at him and meet his eyes. His jaw is clenched and his throat moves as he swallows. He says nothing and looks away.  
You reach out and pull his arm into your lap. The burn’s looking much better, the swelling’s gone down and the blisters are a lot less angry looking.

“I don’t think it’s infected,” you say, “does it still hurt?”

He shrugs, “It’s not so bad,”

You root around in the backpack until you find another water bottle. Lifting Sam’s arm, you gently pour the water over the burn, rinsing away the salt and sand and sweat. You pat it down gently with a towel and start wrapping the bandage around, trying to get it snug without being tight. You secure the bandage and Sam withdraws his arm.

“How does that feel?”

He clenches his fist a couple of times to test the fit. “Pretty good. Thanks,”

“Oh, I’m not done with you yet,” you say breezily, forcing a smile, “hold still,” you produce the antiseptic wipes from the bag and use one of them to clean up the open cut on Sam’s jaw. The prickle of his stubble makes the touch feel intimate suddenly and you pull away. “You’ll have a full beard soon,”

He scratches his jaw, “Does it make me look rugged and handsome?”

You don’t answer, instead your eyes fall to his throat where violent purple bruises in the shape of that oaf’s fat fingers have surfaced. You grit your teeth and blink your eyes rapidly at the emotion that causes. You sit back on your heels, looking down into the sand. You grab a handful of it and let it flow through your fingers back to the earth, trying to find comfort in the relaxing rhythm of the rolling waves at your back. Birds sing to each other merrily, accompanied by the rustling of leaves in the slight wind. It’s beautiful, truly, and you are untouched by any of it. You get up and dust yourself off. “Are you ready to go?”

“One second,” he reaches into the bag and grabs a pack of gum. He opens it and hands you a stick, “I didn’t pack toothpaste,”

“Are you trying to tell me something?” you manage to contort your face into a smirk, the half-smile feeling foreign on your face. You feel like a wax figure being melted down, its features to be reformed into someone else entirely.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Sam grins back at you, seemingly unaware of your discomfort.

You stash your bags in some shrubbery and straighten up. You shield your eyes from the sun and look up towards your destination. You’ll probably have to scrabble through the brush for a while before you can find a footpath that will lead you up the hill, but at least you have approximately zero chance of getting lost.

“Do you think if we just head in that direction we’ll come out somewhere near the hill?” you wonder aloud, pointing.

Sam jumps to his feet and takes a look around. He shrugs. “Probably,”

_Right. Okay. We can do this. I can do this. I fucking killed someone, this should be a piece of cake._

You take a deep breath and, before you can think too hard about anything, start your trek up the beach. You keep your eyes peeled for a way further inland. The rocky little beach doesn’t look like it sees much tourism, probably due to the fact that it’s separated from Maghdouché by a wide thicket of thorny vines and brambles, making it pretty hard to get to. You wish you’d brought that pirate’s machete, it would have sure come in handy right about now.

“Y/N, over here,” Sam calls out to you. He’s standing by a rock wall with a look in his eyes that you do not like.

_He’s going to suggest we climb up there, isn’t he?_

“We can climb up here! We’ll be able to get around the vines this way,”

You approach him, frowning. “It’s pretty high,” you say lamely.

“I’ll boost you up, come on,” he beckons you over, not taking any of your crap.

He bends forwards and cups his hands together. You assume you’re supposed to step into his hands like they do in co-op video games. You swallow.

“Y/N, come on. Not getting any younger over here,”

“All right, all right, I’m coming,” you sigh, and decide to just get it over with. You brace yourself with your hands on Sam’s shoulders and lift your foot into his cupped hands. You’re about to ask what you’re supposed to do next when he straightens up and pushes your foot upwards in a display of strength that jolts the breath out of you. You reach up quickly, hooking your forearms onto the ledge above you and straining with all of your might to haul yourself up. Your feet scramble along the wall, looking for purchase, and finally you find little footholds that you can use to climb up and over. Groaning with effort, you pull yourself onto the top of the wall, where you roll onto your back, exhausted and breathing heavily.

_Jesus. H. Christ_

In no time at all, Sam’s beside you, breathing normally. He’s barely even broken a sweat.

“What _are_ you?” you pant.

“Not one for climbing, huh?” he chuckles.

You grunt, sitting up finally, “I don’t mind it usually. The climbing wall at the gym is much more ergonomic,”

He snorts, “You did good. Here,” he holds out a hand to you. You take it, letting him pull you to your feet, “let’s keep going,”

You turn to back to the hill, much more accessible to you now. It’s pretty steep, and you can feel the burn in your calves in anticipation. Knowledge of what’s at the top, however, spurs you into motion and you begin your hike to Our Lady of Awaiting.

 

 

** Sam **

Sam’s not sure how to feel. He’s worried for Y/N, of course he is, how could he not be? She’s going through a lot with no time to deal with any of it. At least she’s talking a little now, the silence was making him want to scoop out his own eyeballs. He’s pretty sure of a way to keep her talking.

“So, I have no idea where we’re going. You wanna fill me in?”

She wipes the sweat from her brow before answering, “At the top of this hill is a place called Our Lady of Awaiting. There’s a tower there to honour the Virgin Mary, and an ancient cave where she supposedly waited for Jesus to finish preaching in Sidon, hence the name,”

There’s that lilt in her voice again when she talks about something she’s passionate about, it’s only slight, but it’s there. Sam wants to hear it more, it’s much better than the despondent, soulless way she’d been talking earlier.

“So what does this place have to do with Astarte?”

“There are the ruins of a shrine to Astarte at the site. It’s thought that the place was originally a place of worship to Astarte, but when Saint Helena ordered the destruction of anything and everything to do with the pagan goddess, it was destroyed and converted into what it is now,”

“If the shrine was destroyed then what are we looking for?”

The glint in her eye when she answers him is invigorating. “I’m hoping Jackson is stupid enough to be dragging Clemens around the ruins of the old shrine. We’ll be investigating the cave where the Virgin waited. It dates back to ancient times, there must be something down there that can point us in the right direction,”

He nods, mulling it all over. “Sounds simple enough. What could possibly go wrong?” He grins. He can’t bring himself to ask her what happens if the girdle isn’t there. He doesn’t need to ask what they’ll do if they find another statue and some cryptic clues- he knows what the answer to that one will be. He tries for something a bit broader. “Did those letters from the Cult of Aphrodite ever mention this place?”

She shakes her head, “No, they only spoke about Paphos, and the statue there. I thought they meant that the actual girdle was down there, but now we know it was just an artist’s rendering of the artefact,”

He swallows, unsure if he should open his mouth again, when she beats him to it.

“Look, I’m not stupid. I’m not saying we’re going to find some ancient lingerie made of spun gold and rubies at the top of this hill, but the temple in Cyprus _led_ us here, you can’t deny that. The Cult of Astarte and Aphrodite left a trail for someone to follow, and I want to see it through to the end. I need to see where this ends up, why they bothered in the first place. Maybe the girdle only exists in marble and plaster, but I need to _know_ that it does. I can’t leave this question unanswered, I’ll go insane,” she sighs deeply, as if a heavy weight has been lifted from her chest.

Sam blinks a couple of times, almost lost for words. _Almost_. “I gotta say, you’ve got me pretty interested too. We’re in this together, I’ll be here with you to the bitter end, I promise,”

A small smile plays around Y/N’s lips and it makes Sam’s heart soar. “Let’s just get to the top of this hill, shall we?” she says.


	15. Chapter 15

** You **

You wonder what it’ll be like up there, at Our Lady of Awaiting. You’ve only ever seen pictures, you’ve never actually been here before… Maybe you should have mentioned that to Sam at some point. Never mind, you made it in the end.

_I killed a man I killed a man I killed a man I killed a man I killed a man I killed a man I killed a man_

You squeeze your eyes shut and swallow the bile rising in your throat. Your feelings are all twisty inside of you like hundreds of black leeches, wriggling all over each other in their own slime. You’re a killer, plain and simple. You’ve come so far away from who you thought you were that you feel foreign in your own body. You never thought you’d be the kind of person that would throw someone’s life away to further your own goals. You’re a heartless, selfish bitch and your soul is black as the tar at the bottom of a lake. Of course then you remember that you’re not the victim, you’re not the one who was pumped full of bullets, and the fact that you can barely spare a thought for the man you killed in all of your self-pity makes your feel all the more awful.

_I’ve changed I’ve changed I’ve changed I’ve changed I’ve changed I’ve changed I’ve changed I’ve changed_

The thoughts keep creeping up on you like the villain in a horror movie, making your eyes snap open wide with despair. Time is still not a luxury you can afford, however, so you keep doing what you’ve been doing for the last few hours and force the thoughts down as far as you can until they awaken again.

“We’re almost to the top,” Sam says, wiping the sweat from his brow.

You don’t have time to reply before a deafening boom shakes the very air around you. Sam tackles you down into a grove of nearby brush, hunching himself over you until the ground stops rumbling.  
His face is so close to your own, you can see where the sun’s brought out a faint trail of freckles across his nose. His body is warm and hard above you, his muscles taut and his eyes sharp as he surveys your surroundings. Your heart pounds away in your chest, but it’s only partly because of the immediate explosion.  
Sam looks down at you and starts suddenly when he sees you intently watching his face.

“Uh… Y/N? You okay? You hit your head?”

Like you have done so many times before, you imagine kissing him, just to see what it would be like. Also like you have done so many times before, you avert your eyes and clear your throat. He gets the message and rolls off you.

“I was hoping we were done with explosions,” you groan, sitting up and brushing yourself off, “nice save there, by the way,”

“Don’t mention it. I guess we know where Clemens and Jackson are now,”

“Right. We need to get up there. Now!” You make as if you’re going to start sprinting up the hill, but Sam grabs your arm in a firm grip.

“At least stick to the bushes and the tall grass, they see you and you’re dead,” he says sternly, fixing you with a glare.

You pull away from him and stalk into the undergrowth, dropping into what you assume is a stealthy crouch. You raise your eyebrows at him as if to say ‘Is this good enough for you?’ before moving as fast as you can towards the source of the explosion. You can’t stand the thought of Jackson finding the girdle before you, not when you’re right on his tail like this. Sam’s right behind you, and together the two of you finally crest the hill, landing smack in the middle of enemy territory.

“Holy _fuck_ ,” you whisper, taking in the scene around you.

The site is beautiful, there’s no doubting that. It’s all white sandstone and gorgeous smooth-lined architecture. The tower stretches up towards heaven, a pure white column topped with the mother of all Christmas angels- a golden idol of the Virgin Mary holding the baby Jesus. The cathedral that was built over the cave that you seek is made up of many walls and arches in a pale stone, with a white marble statue of the Virgin sitting beside one of the arches. It is not any of this splendour that has you stunned, however.  
The entire area has been cordoned off with yellow tape screaming DANGER in several languages. Guards mill around in official looking uniforms, and not too far away a crowd of tourists and pilgrims stand behind a barricade, being addressed by none other than Richard Clemens himself.

“Please do not panic, that was merely a controlled detonation. There is nothing to worry about, please stay back and let my team do their job,” he says, pompous as usual.

“What’s going on?” you murmur to Sam, turning to look at him. He’s frowning.

“Looks like they’re posing as some kind of bomb squad. Pretty good cover if they want to start blowing shit up, I guess,”

“How can they do something like that? What about the authorities?”

Sam shrugs. “The guy’s rich as all hell, and he’s got connections in all kinds of places. I’m sure he was able to grease a few palms, get someone to look the other way,”

You sigh, “It’s not fair,”

Sam looks like he’s about to offer you some commiseration when Clemens’ booming voice fills the area again.

“We have received a tip from a reliable source about a terror threat here at this religious site, I can say no more than that,”

“He’s such a _liar_ ,” you hiss, annoyed.

“Yeah, he’s having way too much fun with this. Makes our job kind of tricky, but at least we know he hasn’t found the girdle yet,”

“You’re right,” you decide not to despair _just_ yet.

Clemens promptly turns away from the rabble and holds his walkie-talkie to his ear. Whatever he hears must not be to his liking, because his face crumples into a scowl. Still talking into his radio, he begins walking in your direction and he’s not stopping.

“Sam-?” his name is a panicked breath from your lips, and you look to him for guidance.

“Keep low,” he says, almost inaudible, and sinks even further into the tall grass. You follow suit as quietly as you can and try to keep as still as possible.

Clemens continues stalking towards the grass that conceals you and Sam, and you hold your breath as the gravel crunching under his feet gets closer and closer. As he approaches you you’re able to catch snatches of his hushed conversation.

“What do you mean there’s nothing there?” he hisses, pacing back and forth mere inches from where you lie hidden. “I swear to God, Jackson, if this is another wild goose chase… Look, I’ve given you enough time, we’re going to start the detonations. I’ll raze the whole of Maghdouché if I have to,”

“No, you can’t!”

Clemens’ face is a picture when you jump out of the bushes with your hands up. You know just how he feels; you weren’t expecting it to happen either. He recovers soon enough, and makes to reach for the gun at his hip.

“Don’t,” Sam’s followed you, his gun drawn. He glances at you with wide eyes, a silent ‘what the fuck’ written plainly on his face. You’re incredibly grateful for him in this moment.

Clemens sneers at the pair of you, “You two are getting to be real pests,”

You decide to start explaining fast, before he has the chance to call for the exterminators. “Listen, please! You can’t blow this place up, you just can’t,”

“And who are you exactly to tell me what I can and cannot do?”

You take a deep breath and fix him with your best ‘I’m not afraid of you’ look, “I’m the one who’s going to find Aphrodite’s girdle for you,”

 

 

 

** Sam **

_What is she thinking?_

Sam keeps his gun aimed at Clemens, his body angled in such a way that the weapon’s out of view for the tourists gathered not too far away. He’s got Y/N’s back without question, of course, but a heads-up would have been nice. There’s a wall between them now, that’s for damn sure. He thought he’d managed to tear it down a bit earlier, but it seems she’s quite the little bricklayer.

“You want to start explaining yourself, girl,” Clemens says, and Sam wholeheartedly agrees.

Y/N takes a moment, gathering herself, before speaking. “This place is important, no, _sacred_ to so many people around the world. I just couldn’t live with myself if I let it get destroyed when there was something I could do to stop it, so… I’ll help you find the girdle, if you’ll agree not to detonate any of the bombs,”

Sam doesn’t know how much, if any, truth is in her statement. He knows he’s in this for the long haul, though.

Clemens looks decidedly unimpressed. “And what makes you think that I need your help?”

Y/N smirks, “You know Jackson, right? Well, he’s an idiot. I hate to say it, but he couldn’t find his ass with both hands. I guarantee that he’s got your men looking in all the wrong places,”

“And you would know all of the right places, I take it?”

She nods once, “Absolutely,”

Clemens looks like he’s actually considering her proposal. He nods his head towards Sam, “And what about your guard dog over here? He’ll be wanting to come too, I imagine,”

Sam doesn’t give Y/N the chance to respond, he’s afraid of what her answer might be. “You’re goddamn right there, Richard,”

To Sam’s relief, Y/N smiles in agreement, “He goes where I go, of course,”

Clemens does not look pleased, but then again, when does he ever? He shrugs his shoulders, “Fine. I see no reason not to let you relieve that buffoon Jackson of his task. My men severely outnumber you, after all, so you would be most foolish to attempt anything _untoward_ ,” The bastard actually looks over at Sam as he says that last word.

“You have my word,” Y/N says, “now please, take us to the Virgin’s cave,”

“Just a second,” Sam interjects, “your gun, hand it over,” he holds his free hand out to Clemens.

With a sigh, Clemens unholsters his revolver and makes to pass it to Sam.

“I’ll take it,” Y/N says, taking the gun from Clemens.

He looks her up and down disdainfully, “Are you sure you know how to use one of those things, girl?”

She gazes at him, unblinking, “I’ve had some practice,” she says.

Oddly, he seems impressed by her stony response. “You said the cave? Not the ruins of the Astarte shrine?”

“Yes, that’s right. You won’t find anything at the shrine, it was purposefully destroyed so long ago,”

Clemens begins leading the way to the cave, still talking in an almost conversational manner, “Yes, on Saint Helena’s orders, wasn’t it?”

“You know the story?” Y/N says, surprised.

“Jackson’s had his nose stuck in various history books since we got here, trying to dig up some clues. He seems to feel the need to run each and every one of his theories past me,”

It’s almost comical how annoyed he sounds. Suddenly two of Clemens’ guards come running, their footsteps thundering along the concrete. _Where the hell have these guys been, anyway?_ Sam thinks, but he’s saved from having to decide on a course of action by Clemens himself, who waves his goons away.

“Gather up Jackson and his men, we’re taking a trip into the old cave,” he says smoothly, as if this whole thing had been his idea. They don’t even question their boss before trotting off in what Sam assumes is the direction of the shrine.

The three of them arrive at the little cathedral, a heavy wooden door the only thing barring them from entering. The statue of the Virgin Mary sits beside the stone archway, her peaceful gaze peering straight into Sam’s heart, seeing the roiling conflict there. Why does he feel like things are only going to get worse from here on out?


	16. Chapter 16

** You **

_At least we weren’t shot on sight. So far so good, I guess._

You let the weight of the clunky revolver in your hand keep you grounded as you follow Clemens through the massive wooden door and into the little cathedral of Maghdouché. Sam is a firm presence at your back, and you’re keenly aware suddenly of how much you’ve come to rely on him for your safety and peace of mind. It’s going to be so strange when this is all over and you both go back to your respective lives. You’re going to miss him. You push the thought aside with a pang, and focus on the task at hand.

“That must be the entrance to the cave, over there,” you say, pointing. There’s a stone archway in the wall at the back of the room, a heavy wrought-iron gate barring the way. Matching candelabra flank the gate on both sides, dripping with wax from the tall ornamental candles. Gifts and offerings to the Virgin are scattered around, lined up in piles against the walls. It’s obvious this place is highly revered, even to this day.

“Ah, yes. Luckily the custodian was so kind as to give me his keys to the place,” Clemens unhooks a ring of keys from his belt. One of them is much larger than the others, made of dark iron just like the gate.

Your steps falter. “Did… did he give them to you willingly?”

Clemens turns to you with a wolfish grin, “You weren’t made for this business, darling,”

Your skin crawls with revulsion. The blackened thoughts again threaten to rise in your throat like bile; how many more people will die before this is done? You clear your mind, saying nothing and following him towards the gate, once more taking comfort in your grip on the gun. A warm hand lands on your shoulder and squeezes gently, and you turn to face Sam. He inclines his head towards you so you can hear him as he speaks softly, “Hey, you all right?”

You could lose yourself in his serious eyes, if only the circumstances were vastly different. Instead, you nod and smile, feeling bolstered by his concern. The two of you catch up with Clemens in the back of the church, where he fits the iron key into the matching lock on the gate.

Just then, the cathedral door creaks open once more, and there’s the padding of many footsteps. Sam raises his gun on instinct and jerks his chin towards Clemens. “Keep your gun on him, Y/N. If he moves, shoot him,” his voice is harsh and affords no room for questions, but you know in your heart that it’s for your benefit.

“Right,” you say, using your thumb to cock the old fashioned revolver. It’s stiff, and made for hands much bigger and stronger than yours, but you manage with a little effort. You aim for Clemens’ heart, or at least his centre of mass, and try to keep your face from showing just how fast your heart is beating.

You see Jackson before anyone else, of course, him being head and shoulders above all of his guards. He stalks down the aisle, a scowl on his face. His usually shiny brown hair is tied back into a sweaty ponytail, and his clothes are covered in dust. Lebanon has _not_ been kind to him. When he reaches the back of the cathedral his face clears up into a look of disbelief.

“What-? Y/N? You’re alive?”

“Yeah, no thanks to you, you jerk,” you sneer, but inside your hatred for him is faltering. He looks rough, and weirdly… _relieved_ to see you again. You’re not sure what to think, so you decide not to bother.

A shorter, stockier man pushes his way past Jackson, a military grade rifle propped against his shoulder. “It must be my lucky day, now I get to kill you two myself,” Burton says.

Sam focuses his gun on the panty thief with relish, “Great, the whole gang’s here. Can we get down to business now?”

Clemens pushes the iron gate open with a clang, and waves his hand at Burton and the handful of armed guards trailing behind him. “At ease, men. We’re all friends here. We’re going to take a look at the cave beneath this cathedral. Now, Mr. Drake, I assume that you have some stipulations?”

“Damn right I do. Your goons can stay up here, we’ll bring the weasel with us so we can keep an eye on him,”

Jackson looks positively affronted at being referred to as a weasel, he crosses his arms and narrows his eyes. “Fine, but I’m bringing Burton with me,” he huffs.

“That would also be one of my requirements,” Clemens pipes up.

Sam groans, “Sure, whatever. But he leaves his gun up here,”

“That is agreeable. Burton, do as he says. The rest of you, set up a perimeter around the cathedral,” he winks and it makes your blood run cold, “I need to have some insurance that you aren’t just going to kill me and leave my body in this pit. If we don’t come back up in an hour, I want someone to come down and check on us, all right?”

“All right, all right, let’s just get down there for fuck’s sake. Has anyone got a flashlight?”

 

After a short argument involving lots of posturing from the men, the order everyone would go down into the cave was decided. Or rather, you made the decision for them when you grabbed Jackson by the arm and pushed him towards the gate with your gun at his back. He grumbled a little, but swung the heavy-duty flashlight into his hands and lit the way for you both to begin the descent. It’s a little unnerving in such a narrow space, not least because you have Clemens and Burton behind you breathing down your neck. You’re spared from freaking out, however, by the knowledge that Sam is watching your back from his position at the end of the line.  
You carefully make your way down the ancient stone steps, which you can only assume were built with tiny-footed people in mind. You hold one hand against the cool stone wall for balance, the other still holding the gun, as you sink further and further under the earth. Eventually, the passage evens out and the walls begin looking a lot less manmade.

“Uh, it’s a dead end,” Jackson says sheepishly.

“What? Let me see,” you push him aside, not easy in the cramped quarters, to see what he’s talking about.

Horrifyingly, he is right. You suppose a stopped clock is right twice a day. The little cave, and it is _tiny_ , lies before you in all its miniscule glory. There’s a large, smooth rock off to the side that gives you vivid visions of the Virgin Mary sitting there, waiting, but that’s it.

As Jackson pans the flashlight around the cave, something about one of the walls catches your eye.

“Wait! What’s that over there?” you shout, interrupting Clemens just as his speech about how valuable his time is and how expendable your lives are is really getting into full swing. You hop past Jackson, feeling your way along the walls until you find what you’re looking for. “Light, please,”   
The beam of the flashlight illuminates the cave wall in front of you, and when you press your palm to the stone you feel the rock here is as different to your fingers as it is to your eyes. “It’s been blocked off. This section here isn’t part of the natural cave wall, I think it’s a way through. Or, it was,”

“Fat lot of good it does us now, though,” Jackson sighs.

“I’m surrounded by idiots,” Clemens sneers, stepping further into the cave, “Burton, go and fetch some form of explosive. Use your best judgement,”

“I’ll go too,” Sam says, turning to head back up the steps, “Y/N, shoot off one of Jackson’s ears if he gets annoying,”

You smirk, “I’ll shoot off something,”

 

 

 

** Sam **

_What a woman._

Sam chuckles to himself as he follows Burton up the treacherous stairs, keeping his gun aimed at the merc’s back. On one hand, Sam’s glad Y/N’s perking up, but on the other hand he’s worried that this is all a front she’s putting on so she doesn’t have to admit that she’s hurting.

The two men reach the top of the stairs and blink in the light streaming in through the cathedral’s windows. Burton stalks through the pews with Sam hot on his heels until they’re both out in the sweltering Lebanon sun. There’s a weapons crate not too far from the entrance and Burton flips the lid open, exposing the contents.

Sam whistles when he sees the range of assault weapons and explosives contained within. “You guys planning on starting a war?”

Burton shrugs, “This job sure has its perks,”

Sam watches him closely as he rifles through their various means for blowing shit up. He finally settles on a sticky grenade with a separate detonator, and Sam’s more than a little disappointed. He shrugs and brings up his gun again, “I’ll be taking that,”

Surprisingly, Burton hands it over without fuss, “Yeah, whatever. You’re the boss,”

Burton’s compliance is only serving to make Sam more suspicious, but there’s not much he can do about it right now, what with all of Clemens’ guards milling around, and Y/N stuck down there with those two creeps. “Let’s head back. You first,”

Burton grunts and pushes through the wooden cathedral door once more and the two of them make their way back down into the subterranean cavern. Soon enough, Clemens’ droning voice can be heard bouncing off the cave walls and Sam feels immensely sorry for Y/N.

“Great, you’re back!” She chirps, once more interrupting one of Clemens Very Important speeches.

“But of course, now if everyone could stand back,” Sam fixes the grenade to the blocked off wall and joins the rest of the group further down the passage.

“This has got to be a sin, right? This feels like a sin,” Y/N says nervously, a contrite look on her face.

“I’m sure the Virgin will forgive you,” Clemens drawls, “Can we please just get on with it?”

“Okay, okay,” Sam says, holding up the detonator. “Uh, three… two… _one!”_

With the push of a button, there’s a muffled sounding _boom_ , and a dust cloud fills the narrow space. Coughing up a lung, the group waits for the dust to settle before venturing back into the sacred cave that they’ve just blasted a hole through.

“You, help me clear the rubble,” Sam says to Burton, and the two of them begin moving the cracked rocks out of the way so they can see what they’re dealing with while Jackson stands awkwardly by.

“Jackson, come over here,” Y/N says, a playful look on her face, “this is where the women and the elderly stand,” she gestures to where she stands with Clemens, off to the side.

That seems to snap Jackson out of his funk, and he begins helping to move the debris away from the hole in the cave wall. Sam raises his eyebrows, but says nothing.  
Finally, they’ve cleared a space big enough to fit through, and Jackson shines the flashlight into the cavern beyond. “Looks like there’s another passage through here,” he says, excitement in his voice.

“Let’s go!” Y/N says, mirroring his enthusiasm. The two of them head through the gap into the uncovered passage, leaving Sam and the others to follow behind. Sam’s starting to see how the two of them could have worked together before all of this started, he couldn’t see it before, but it’s clear they’re both total history nerds with much more in common than they’d like to admit. The thought makes him frown, selfish though his reasons may be, he does not like the idea of them cosying up together at all.

“What… the hell?” Y/N’s voice echoes throughout the chamber, and Sam hurries around the corner to see what caused her exclamation.

In a little square room not unlike the one they found under the Temple of Aphrodite, Y/N and Jackson stand together staring at one of the walls. A giant, multi-ringed dial is affixed to the south-facing wall, emblazoned with various symbols and glyphs, like some ancient safe combination lock.

At last Clemens and Burton round the corner, and Clemens’ face lights up like Christmas day. Sinister Christmas day. “Finally, we’re getting somewhere!”


	17. Chapter 17

** You **

 

Deep in a dusty subterranean chamber beneath Lebanon, you are practically giddy with excitement. It doesn’t even matter that you are surrounded by enemies, or that your entire body aches and it’s been hours since your last proper meal; you’re onto something _big_ here.

“What do you think, Y/N?” Jackson says, clearly just as entranced as you are by the mysterious dial on the wall before you.

You grin without meaning to, but when you look at your old partner’s face, you’re reminded suddenly of him emptying your purse out onto your table while strange men looted your apartment. Your good mood dims slightly.

_This discovery could have been ours if only you hadn’t betrayed me. Sucks to be you, though, Judas. I’m not giving it up that easily._

You may have told Clemens a tiny little white lie earlier. You’re going to find Aphrodite’s girdle, no doubt about that, but you’re _not_ finding it for him. You’re going to find it for yourself. You’re just not quite sure how, yet.

“I’m not sure what to think,” you say honestly, “but this looks pretty promising,”

“Well, there’s an easy way to get past this,” Burton says, already turning to head back to the surface.

“No!” You whirl on him, scowling, “No more explosives, please! Do you want to destroy the thing we’re all here for?”

He heaves a frustrated sigh and leans back against the wall, crossing his arms in contempt. For some reason, Sam’s grinning, as if he’s finding the whole exchange quite amusing. He’s annoying, but he’s no Judas. You move to stand by his side as you appraise the dial from a distance.

“May I remind you both that your lives very much depend on what is behind that door, so you’d better be thinking of a way to get past that lock,” Clemens is back to being demanding, but he’s not wrong. The dials on the wall really do resemble the lock on a safe.

You turn to Sam, “You’ve broken into safes in your time, right?”

He chuckles, “Well, yeah, but I’d usually steal the combination first,”

“And what if you couldn’t get the combination?”

“I’ve found a crowbar usually works quite well. Not much use here, though,”

You sigh. Jackson looks like he wants to offer his expertise, but you’re not ready to listen just yet. You still feel icky from being cordial with him when you found the secret passage in the cave.

“Well, then. We’ll just have to figure out the code ourselves,” you say, trying to calm yourself. There is both excitement and anxiety thrumming through your veins, and you hope the adrenaline will kick your brain into high gear.

The others disperse around the small room, thinking aloud, and examining the dials up close. Sam and Jackson work together to try to move the outermost ring, and find that it does rotate with some effort.  
You try to drown them all out, focusing solely on the lock and its symbols.

_Okay, three rings. Let’s start with the biggest- the one on the outside._

_Let’s see… horse, Venus, lion, sphinx, dove, and rose. All your typical Astarte faire._

_Middle ring, you’re up. Rose, lion, Venus, horse, sphinx, dove._

_And now the little ring in the centre. Venus, dove, sphinx, rose, horse, lion._

_Yup, just a load of Astarte symbols. But what’s the correct combination?_

You give in and decide to include Jackson in your musings. His proficiency lies in the more broad topic of Greek mythology as a rule, but his years as your research partner proved he’s a good solid wall to bounce ideas off of, if nothing else.

“So, what have you got?” You say to the room at large, approaching the puzzling dial to get a closer look.

Jackson joins you in appraising the three rings. “These are definitely all symbols of Astarte,” he says at last.

“Yeah, no shit,” you roll your eyes and turn to Sam, “have you ever seen anything like this before?”

He nods, “Yeah, actually. It seems whenever anybody had treasure to hide, they liked to set up little tests like this, to see if you’re worthy to lay eyes on it,”

You shrug, “If they wanted it hidden, why not just seal the chamber off? Why make a lock that can be solved and opened?”

“You’re assuming that this thing can be solved!” He laughs, “But they didn’t want it hidden from _everyone,_ just the _wrong people_ ,”

“So we need to look for something that only the _right_ people would know the significance of,”

“You got it,” he smiles at you and the crinkles at the corners of his eyes weaken your knees.

“We should probably figure out who those right people were, for a start,” you hum in thought.

The cult of Astarte. What would an Astarte worshipper see in these glyphs that a normal person wouldn’t? Did the symbols hold some other significance? The main body of your knowledge is and always will be surrounding Aphrodite, but you have a solid understanding of Astarte, and other goddesses of sexuality. Will that be enough to get past this test of mettle?

“What are the odds we bust in there and find a statue of some other goddess that leads us to another hole in the ground?” Jackson says, trying to lighten the mood.

Sam chuckles lightly, but the humour is lost on you. Something about what Jackson just said has struck a chord somewhere in the back of your mind.

“Another goddess,” you murmur, willing the realisation to make itself known instead of swirling around your brain like smoke.

Sam catches your eye, and you can tell by his face that he knows you’re onto something. “Astarte became Aphrodite, right? Who was Astarte before she was Astarte?”

You rack your brain, “God, it depends how far you go back, or what part of the world you go to. All of these deities of femininity and sexuality share some roots of commonality,”

“Wait right here and hold that thought, I’m going to get you a map,” he heads back to the passageway, “you, with me. I’m not leaving you down here,” he nods to Burton, who looks like he was falling asleep against the wall. He reluctantly stands up straight and follows Sam from the room.

Once more you’re left alone, outnumbered by enemies. The bulky revolver is getting heavy in your hands, but you’re not about to put it down. You wonder how powerful the kickback from firing a shot would be. You imagine you’d be feeling it in your arms for some time afterwards, that was if it didn’t just dislocate both your shoulders for your trouble. It would hurt. Would it be worth it? You look at Clemens, who for all his posturing and obnoxiousness, just looks old and tired. Could you do it? Could you shoot him? Then there’s Jackson, who until recently you would have counted among the dwindling number of your friends. Now, though… he’d stolen from you, betrayed you, put your life in danger more than once. But could you shoot him?  
The toxic soup of your inner emotions is threatening to boil over again. You can’t let it. You heave a calming breath, passing it off as a sigh, and hope that Sam gets back soon. It seems like lately you’re only able to stay grounded if you have Sam somewhere in your peripheral vision. At least then you can actually _see_ the consequences of your actions. Sam would be dead if you hadn’t taken a life. If only this knowledge was enough to keep your insides from screaming.

The tell-tale thundering of boots on stone signals the imminent return of the object of your musings and sure enough, Sam appears around the corner, a map folded up under his arm and a marker pen in the hand not holding his gun. You’re not quite sure what he’s got in mind, but you’re willing to give it a go. Burton resumes his arduous task of holding up the wall and Sam lays the map out on the ground at your feet.

“What-?” you start to ask, but Sam waves you down.

“Hear me out,” he says, uncapping the marker with his teeth, “we started _here_ ,” he draws a circle around Cyprus, “and now we’re over here,” he draws another circle, this time around the coastal area of Lebanon.

“Yes, we knew this already,” Clemens complains in that drawling voice of his.

“Look, gramps, if you’ve got a better idea then I’m all ears,”

“Mr. Drake, my better idea was shot down by the precious princess over there,”

Sam snorts, “You mean Jackson?”

“Can we just figure out this puzzle, please?” Jackson groans, crouching over the map, “Where were you going with this?”

“Right,” Sam draws a line on the map, “look, it’s practically a straight line from Paphos to Maghdouché,”

You’re still not getting it.

“Y/N, think about it. The Cult of Astarte travelled west to Cyprus. Where did they come from before that? Hell, where did they go afterwards? If we can get into their mindset, we can open this door. You got this,”

You sit down on the dusty ground, with the map in front of you. Sam’s got your brain whirring, you just need to sort your muddled thoughts. You hold your hand out for the pen.

“Well, it’s easy enough to say where they went after Cyprus,” you say, drawing a line into the west, “first you hit Greece, of course, and then Rome, where she became Venus,” You look eastward. “If we follow the line back in time, well, we could end up in any number of places, but I think the most obvious choice,” you draw another line, from Lebanon, through Jordan and into Iraq, “is Mesopotamia,”

“Which means?” Sam prods gently.

You look up at him, meeting his eyes, “Inanna, Queen of Heaven,”

 

 

 

** Sam **

****

Sam’s about to ask for clarification when Y/N springs to her feet, heading over to the dial on the wall with a spring in her step.

“I was wrong,” she mutters, running her fingers over some of the symbols, “these aren’t roses, they’re _rosettes_ , one of Inanna’s symbols,” she tries turning the little ring in the centre to no avail, “give me a hand, somebody,”

Jackson steps in and helps her, but when the smallest ring begins to turn, so too does the one on the outside.

“What? The rings move each other? This is a pain in the ass,” Y/N sighs.

“Move over,” Sam says, taking her place, “I’m really good at these,”

Y/N cocks an eyebrow at him quizzically, but stands back and observes. “Okay, well I’m guessing we want all three rosettes to line up with those grooves running down the middle,”

“All right, should be easy enough,” Sam says, and he and Jackson get to work.

 

Twenty minutes later and it is quite apparent that it is _not_ easy enough. Both Sam and Jackson are sweating from exertion, and they take a break for a moment.

“They just won’t line up,” Jackson groans, “as soon as we get one in place, another one moves out,”

“I thought you were really good at these,” Y/N says, offering Sam a wry smile.

“Hey, don’t go doubting my talents now,” he says, wiping his brow, “are you sure about the solution? Maybe one ring needs to be on a rosette, but the other two are different?”

She frowns, but concedes. “That would make for a better passcode, wouldn’t it? Let me have another look,” she hooks the revolver into her belt and crosses her arms, her face crumpled into an adorable thinking expression.

“What other symbols does Inanna have?” Jackson says, “Maybe there’s some overlap,”

“Well, if we’re sticking with the Inanna theory, I’m pretty sure the dove is one of them. They’re all really into doves,”

“Rosette and dove, got it. One more?”

She shrugs, “I’m not really sure, but there are only four choices left, right?”

“Hang on,” Sam says, an idea striking him, “the statue of Astarte had a dove and a lion,”

Y/N’s face lights up, “It did! Can you make the dials line up with those symbols?”

Sam and Jackson waste no time in rotating the rings, trying to find a way to fit the three symbols into the grooves in the stone.

“And now if we just move this outer one to the lion, then-“ Sam grunts with effort as the dial rolls into place.

The tension in the room is palpable as the five of them hold their breath in anticipation. Even Burton seems interested to see what’s going to happen next.

There’s a rumbling deep in the earth and the shriek of stone grinding against stone. Slowly, _slowly_ , the wall bearing the dial sinks down into the floor, revealing the chamber beyond.

“Holy goddamn shit,” Y/N breathes, and Sam has to agree.


	18. Chapter 18

** You **

You step through the cloud of disturbed dust and into the hidden vault that lies beyond the solved puzzle lock. Jackson lights the way for you with the heavy duty flashlight and for a moment all you can see are the swirling particles of thousand year old soot as they dance in the beam of the first light to touch them in centuries. The dust settles and your eyes adjust, and the reason for your exclamation is brought into sharp relief.

What once must have been a truly wondrous shrine to Astarte (Inanna? You were starting to lose track at this point), is now in complete disarray. Ancient braziers are knocked to the ground, favours and offerings crushed to still-shiny fragments. But the centrepiece of the room is, of course, the eerily lifelike marble statue of Inanna (Astarte?). The poor goddess, whatever her name may be, is broken in two. Her supple calves and thighs still stand proud, but all they support now is her lower torso- the top half lying smashed to pieces on the chamber floor, as if her narrow little waist was simply too weak to hold it up any longer. She is accompanied by a severely disfigured Lion, and a broken hand holding a dove lies off to the side, detached from the body. You can see it was no accident, however; a primitive sledgehammer sits innocuously at the base of the statue.

“We could have used the dynamite after all,” Burton scoffs, but he is collectively ignored.

“What the-?” As the flashlight’s beam dips slightly, you catch sight of something you did not expect.

A pair of ancient corpses lie, shrivelled by time, in a corner of the room. You approach gingerly, not because of any preternatural fear that sends your skin crawling into goosebumps, but out of some unshakable notion that the bodies might collapse into ash if you breathe too heavily. You’ve been around desiccated corpses a lot, actually, thanks to your tenure at the museum, but there’s just something different about encountering them in the wild that you really can’t explain.

“Are those… mummies?” Jackson says, shining the light down on them directly.

“That’s my diagnosis,” you say, kneeling beside the two prone forms, “my questions are ‘who were they?’ and ‘why were they here?’”

You suppose the very thing that’s kept the bodies so well preserved is probably the thing that killed them; the lack of air in the chamber. Their skin is wicked of all moisture and darkened by age, but it’s intact. In fact, both mummies still have full heads of hair, albeit dry and wispy. Your job description has somewhat leaned towards _historian_ rather than _archaeologist_ as of late _,_ but judging by the style of the hair and tattered clothes, you could hazard a guess that the corpses are of two men, who most likely lived some two-and-a-half thousand years ago.

“Thieves?” Sam says, coming closer.

“Probably, but how did they get in? And why didn’t they leave the way they came?”

“Frankly, I couldn’t care less about two dried up old corpses,” Clemens says, his voice dangerous, “where is the artefact?”

“Are we too late?” Jackson sounds almost panicked.

“Hey, calm down,” Sam waves his hand to quiet Jackson, “the only people who’ve been down here in thousands of years are those two suckers down there,” he gestures to the mummies.

“We’re not too late,” you say grimly, “I don’t think the girdle was ever here in the first place. I think- I think I’ve made a huge mistake,”

A chorus of ‘ _what?’_ goes around the small room, and you can feel that all eyes are on you.

Your shoulders slump as you begin explaining yourself before Clemens can demand you to. “I was wrong; the room under the Temple of Aphrodite wasn’t trying to lead us here, that was the assumption I made because I thought the statue was of Astarte. I never would have thought of an ancient Sumerian goddess in Cyprus!” You take a breath, aware you’re starting to sound a little manic, “It was Inanna. It’s _always_ been about Inanna. I don’t think Astarte or Aphrodite even come into it at this point. The Cult of Inanna moved west, out of Mesopotamia and into the rest of the world; did you know they worshipped Astarte in ancient Egypt? I’ll bet if we looked there we’d find rooms just like this one hidden deep beneath the sand,”

Suddenly Sam’s right before you, both of his hands on your shoulders, “Hey,” he says softly, “what are you trying to tell us?”

You swallow, unable to meet his eyes, “This room is a decoy, so was the one in Paphos. Made to lure thieves and tomb robbers away from the girdle’s real location, wherever the fuck that is, and I fell for it hook, line and sinker,”

A heavy silence settles amongst you all. You wrap your arms around yourself as you wait for whatever happens next.

Weirdly, puzzlingly, Clemens is _laughing._ He claps his hands together slowly a few times before his face loses all humour. “Nice try. Now,” he snaps his fingers, “let’s try that again, shall we?”

Burton moves so fast, you have no time to even think about reacting. He emerges from where he’s been lurking in the dark, drawing a viciously long knife from his boot, and in what seems like no time at all he’s behind you, the bite of cold steel threatening against your throat. You’re frozen, fear in your veins like ice, when Jackson approaches you, taking the revolver from your belt. Somehow it’s this second betrayal of his that cuts you deepest, as if he were the one bearing down on you with a knife.

“You bastard,” you snarl at him, but he doesn’t answer. Instead, he passes Clemens’ gun back to its original owner. Your eyes flit over to Sam, who has his gun drawn and trained on Burton, but there’s little he can do in the poor light and with the fact that you’re pretty much being used as a meat shield. In the span of ten seconds, the status quo has reverted and any upper hand you might have had is now totally and hopelessly lost.

“Put the gun down, Mr. Drake,” Clemens says lazily, “and see if you can’t convince your little girlfriend to tell us the truth,”

Your eyes widen in panic. You _had_ told them the truth. What the hell were you supposed to say now?

 

 

 

** Sam **

_Fucking fuck._

Sam lowers his gun to the ground slowly, torn between not wanting to take his eyes off Clemens and wanting to comfort Y/N, tell her everything was going to be okay. Tell her he had everything under control. So what if it would be lying? Anything to make that spooked-horse look leave her eyes.

“I- I am telling the truth!” she squeaks, and there’s so much that Sam needs to tell her but he can’t.

_Just look in the old man’s eyes, he doesn’t care about the truth anymore. He needs to know the search isn’t over. He’s got enough of a stake in this that it’s making him crazy, tell him that you don’t know where the girdle is one more time and he’ll give the order to kill you._

He calls her name softly to get her attention, trying to convey with his eyes what he can’t with his words. “It’s okay,” he says, “you can tell them,”

By the utter confusion on her face, she’s not getting his hint. “What-?”

“I know I told you to keep it secret, but forget about that, okay? Tell them,”

_Come on, I know you can think of something. You’re a little fucking genius, I know you are. Tell them something, anything, and I’ll help you work it out._

“Um,” she falls silent. She’s thinking. Burton digs the knife in a little more and she squeals in shock. Sam’s halfway to tackling the pair of them together when the ominous click of the revolver cocking pulls him back to his senses.

“How is she supposed to speak with that psycho trying to slit her throat?” he yells out in frustration.

“Yes, all right, ease up with the knife, would you? She needs her tongue in her head to tell us what she knows,” Clemens agrees, motioning with his gun for Sam to step back.

“Lucky for her,” Burton adds, then murmurs into her ear, “just imagine if I could get to your secrets by slicing your head open, how much quicker that would be,”

Y/N looks completely disgusted, but for the moment, not afraid. She’s still thinking, using the time while they bicker to come up with something.

Sam’s about to try to buy her some more times when at last she speaks, her voice wavering with fear.

“Inanna’s cult grew in size and popularity in ancient Mesopotamia,” she begins, clearing her throat before continuing, “that’s where they built their biggest and most fortified temple to honour the goddess, in Nippur, which is in modern day Iraq. What if-“ and it’s here that Sam knows he was right to have faith in her. Her eyes light up with an idea, with excitement for the hunt even despite the dire circumstances. He wants to protect that light at all costs. “What if the girdle- or whatever it really is, the word ‘girdle’ was always associated with Aphrodite after all, and this predates her substantially- never left Iraq at all? What if they never actually took it west with them when they went out to spread the word of Inanna?”

“But wait,” Jackson pipes up, “if they never took it with them then how did Aphrodite ever come to have a girdle in the first place? What about the letters that started all of this? They specifically mentioned the girdle,”

“Yes, and where did they lead us? To the decoy room under Paphos. Wherever they went, they spread rumours of the great treasure they had with them, to draw people into these thief traps and away from the temple back in Nippur, to keep the temple from being raided,”

The room falls silent again, all of them trying to process her story. Well, maybe not all of them.

“Am I slitting this bitch’s throat or what, Boss?” Burton says impatiently.

Clemens seems to be mulling it over for a moment. “I think not,” he says at last, and Sam heaves a sigh of relief. But before he can feel too relieved, Clemens speaks again. “I’ll be wanting her tied up, though,”

“What? No!” Sam can only shout, surrounded by enemies on all sides and unarmed. Why does this keep happening?

“As for you, Mr. Drake, well, I won’t be needing you anymore,” Clemens says coldly, aiming his gun right between Sam’s eyes.

Jackson slinks off, presumably to amass the rest of Clemens’ men, and Sam can feel a cold sweat beginning to run down the back of his neck as he desperately tries to think of a way out.

“Wait!” Y/N shouts loud enough to break Clemens’ concentration. He turns to her idly.

“What now? I’m keeping you alive, aren’t I? What more do you want?”

“Please, _please_ don’t hurt Sam,” she pleads, tears shining in her eyes, “it’s all my fault that he’s here in the first place, so _please_ ,”

Sam feels like the biggest douchebag in the universe. Not only has he put her in danger so many fucking times, but she still feels like somehow she’s at fault. How?

“Do you really think you’re in a position to be making demands?” Clemens sneers.

“I’m not demanding! I’m begging! Please! I need him. If you want me to find the treasure for you, I need him,”

Sam swallows the lump in his throat. _I’m gonna make this up to you, darling, I swear to god._

Clemens sighs, “I suppose you wouldn’t be much use to me if you were crying about your Lothario all day long. Fine, you’re both coming with me,”

 

The rest of the day passed in a blur; Jackson returned with Clemens’ little army in tow and Sam and Y/N were bound and carted back up to the surface. Sam swore he saw the flash on a camera go off and cringed at the thought of his face showing up in the papers as a ‘terrorist’. The two of them were loaded into the back of a black van, and when the doors closed they were left in complete darkness. In the back of his mind, Sam laments that they’re never going to return that boat they rented. He bets the late fee is going to be a bitch.


	19. Chapter 19

****

** You **

 

“Sam?” you call out to him in the dark. He’s been quiet for a while now and you think he might be asleep. It’s been a few hours since you were shut in the back of the van, and the vehicle’s been on the move ever since. You have no idea where you are, but you’re alive and so is Sam, so for now that has to be enough.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, much closer to you than you remember him being.

“Sorry, did I wake you?”

“Don’t worry about it, I was just resting my eyes,”

You swallow a few times before speaking, “Please tell me you’ve got some genius plan,”

He chuckles ruefully, “The answer’s still the same as when you last asked me, princess,”

“That was like an hour ago, you’ve had time to think,”

“Well so have you, what have you come up with?”

Every scenario you run in your head leads to your gruesome and untimely death. Things do not look good. “Nothing,” you say at length, “not a damn thing,”

“Well shit,” he says, and you can hear him shuffling around beside you.

“What are you doing?”

“Seeing if I can’t loosen these ropes. If we’re gonna be here for a while then at least we can be comfortable,”

“I thought you gave up on that a couple hours ago?”

He continues moving, unseen, and you can hear him straining against his bonds. Minutes pass like this.

“How’s it going?” You say, wishing you could see him.

“Yeah, being comfortable is out the window. Worth another try, though,” he sits back against the side of the van, next to you, and you can feel his shoulder touching yours. It’s comforting.

You’ve had a lot of downtime since you were captured, a lot of time to think, and when trying to come up with a plan of escape got too much, your thoughts inevitably turned to the man beside you. The time you’ve spent together has been turbulent at best, but he really has become someone you depend on, someone you don’t want to be without. The girlish yearnings in your heart, long forgotten in the wake of all that’s happened, are starting to awaken again. If this adventure is going to end in your death, there are a few things you want to do first.

“I’m sorry,” you say softly, and if he weren’t sitting so close to you, you doubt he’d be able to hear.

“Don’t be,” he says at once, “don’t be,”

“Will you just listen? I want to say something,” you wait a moment, and when Sam says nothing, you continue, “I’m sorry for pushing you away after- after what happened with the pirates. I was just so caught up in my own head, and I almost felt like it didn’t matter what happened to me because I was tainted somehow. I guess that’s why I’ve been acting so _stupid_ and why I got you into this mess with me and I’m sorry for that,”

There’s silence for a beat too long when you finish.

“You can speak now, Sam,” you say, exasperated.

“Look, it’s all right. I understand. I'm not as dense as I seem. And I never thought you were acting stupid. Reckless, hell yeah, but not stupid,”

You wonder what his face looks like as he’s saying this. You’re picturing him with his usual charming grin. “Well, I just wanted you to know that I’m trying to deal with my shit now, okay? I'm not going to let it get in the way anymore. We need to be a team, and that’s easier when we’re both on the same page,”

“Very astute of you,” he’s _definitely_ grinning now. You don’t know whether you want to kick him or kiss him. Probably both. At the same time.

You nudge him with your shoulder, and in doing so you end up bumping his head with yours. “Oh!” you exclaim involuntarily. His face is much closer to you than it should have been and it sends your heartbeat thumping like mad. Was he leaning in to you? Was he going to kiss you? Should you kiss him?

“It’s uh- hard to be smooth in the pitch black when you’re tied up, you know?” he says, his voice lower and quieter than a moment ago, more intimate, somehow.

All of a sudden, your mind is clear. You know what you want. “I thought you thrived on challenges,” you say, your voice matching the warm honey quality of his own.

You can feel his breath on your face, and then gently he brushes your nose with his, as if trying to gauge where you are. You shut your eyes, even though it makes no difference in the dark, and then there’s the warm press of lips against your own. It’s chaste and you feel him begin to pull away, when you catch his lips again with yours, not letting him go that easily. This seems to awaken something in him, and he presses against you harder, moving his lips faster. You struggle to keep up with him, but you do your best, turning your head to deepen the angle and letting him guide the movement of the kiss. You wish you had your hands free so you could touch him, run your hands through his hair, grab fistfuls of his shirt, anything. The passion of the kiss is igniting your bones and with a start you realise that if the pair of you were unbound, you’re not sure there would be any stopping you. Maybe it’s all you’ve been through together in such a short time, and that in the background you’ve been wanting him right from the start, but this kiss is the single most exhilarating thing you can remember doing, while at the same time your frazzled nerves are calmed and you’re for once able to live in the moment. It’s funny how your impending doom can make all of your doubts and insecurities melt away; who cares that he’s fourteen years older than you? Or that you know next to nothing about him, including his pretty shady past which involved _fifteen years_ in prison? As long as he keeps doing what he’s doing to your bottom lip, you could not care less.

At last the two of you part, breathing heavily. Your face is on fire and you’re surprised you’re not glowing in the dark.

“I’m not gonna let anything happen to you,” he says into your ear.

“Yeah, right back at you,” you murmur, laying your head on his shoulder “I’ve got your back too, you know,”

He kisses the top of your head softly, “I know, baby. I know,”

Your insides are a mess of butterflies ricocheting off your ribcage, and you smile secretly in the dark. You’re tied up, held hostage, travelling through war torn countries on your way to who knows? You might die soon, you might be killed. You’re hungry and you need to shower. None of that matters right now, right now you’re warm and safe in the closest thing to Sam’s embrace as you can get right now. It’s just like being back in the cave on the island, you find yourself thinking and saying things you don’t think you’d let yourself in the light.

“You’re taking me on the absolute best date ever when we get home,”

He snorts, “Oh yeah? Where do you want to go, princess?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug against him, “you figure it out,”

“Are you always this demanding?”

“Yes,”

“Looks like I’ve got my work cut out for me,” he laughs warmly, laying his cheek against your head.

“Oh you have no idea,” you giggle along with him, but when the laughter ends you feel like you might cry.

 

 

** Sam **

****

Sam’s not sure how to feel. He’s not sure what he’s doing either, but that’s not really anything new, he’s the master of winging it. Is he using the fact that they might be killed off soon to take advantage of her? No, fuck that. She said it all in that kiss- she’s just as into him as he is her. That in itself is kind of terrifying, but facing his fears is something he is _not_ master of, so he’s not going to dwell on that too much. Besides, he’s been in near-death situations _a lot_ and he’s never been tempted to lock lips with his female partners. Although having said that, he’s pretty sure Chloe’s slept with his brother so that would be like incest or something, right? And then of course there’s Nadine Ross… enough said.  
All he really knows right now is that he’s not wasting another moment wondering what Y/N’s lips taste like, and even if him and Y/N are horribly suited to each other and they both go up in flames, at least they had these moments of peace in the darkness, away from the panic and danger that would invariably be in their very near future.  
He’s just pissed at the whole situation, he realises. If he’d met her in different circumstances, they’d be free to enjoy one another unhindered. But then, would he have even given her the time of day? Sure, she’s cute enough to stimulate his eyes, but what about his mind? That treacherous part of him that’s finding it harder and harder to be satisfied with his life? Picking up hot chicks in bars is something he thought would _never_ get old, and maybe it didn’t, maybe it’s just that he’s got old. Regardless, he finds himself craving a little consistency in his life, like maybe having someone who can both warm his bed _and_ know him as a person, someone who knows his past and his stubbornness and still wants to stay. Hell, if he’s wishing for stuff, what about a woman who does both of those things and is someone he can share adventures with?  
Obviously, Y/N fits the bill. If they hadn’t been thrown into this perilous situation, he might never have known that, so for that alone, anything they go through now will be worth it.

“I promised you steak, didn’t I?” he says suddenly into the darkness.

Y/N stirs beside him, “I think I remember something like that, yeah,”

“There’s this great steakhouse where my brother lives, we go whenever I visit. I’m taking you there when we get out of this mess,”

“Promise?” she says in a small voice.

“Oh honey, I fuckin’ swear to god,” he’s convincing himself as much as her. Even if they aren’t going to work, if she’s too anal or he’s too jealous, he’d really like the chance to find out.

 

 

A few more hours pass, with both Sam and Y/N falling in and out of sleep. Finally, the rumbling of the van’s movement ceases and there is the sound of doors opening and closing. Sam stirs, sitting up suddenly when he realises what’s happening, but he’s still not prepared when the doors swing open and light comes streaming in. When his eyes stop burning, he sees Jackson standing in the morning light, flanked by armed guards.

“What’s going on?” It’s Y/N who speaks first, having woken up when the doors opened.

Jackson says nothing, just gestures to his guards who both climb into the back of the van.

“Whoa guys, I’m flattered but I really don’t swing that way,” Sam quips when they work together to grab his bound form and begin removing him from the vehicle. He doesn’t want Y/N to panic.

“Shut up,” one of the mercs says, and shoves Sam to the ground.

Looking around, he realises he’s lying on the side of a dusty dirt road, seemingly in the middle of nowhere. He can’t panic though, for Y/N. Speaking of, she’s yelling something, but he can’t quite hear her because Jackson swings the back doors of the van closed against her protests. What’s going on? Why have they brought him out here alone?

“So, what is this? ‘Cause I could really go for a smoke break right about now,”

“I thought I told you to shut up,” the goon says, before giving Sam a swift kick in the stomach.

Grunting in pain, Sam looks up as Jackson approaches him, standing in the way of the sun so that his face is in shadow, making him look more menacing than usual.

“You didn’t think we’d just forget about our men that you killed, did you?” he says, and Sam swallows.

_Out of the frying pan and into the fucking fire, huh._


	20. Chapter 20

** You **

Your voice is hoarse from screaming for Sam. In your writhing against your bonds, you’ve fallen into an awkward position on your side and you can’t get back up. Alone in the dark, the confines of the van suddenly feel very much like a coffin, and the blackness seems to be closing in on you from all sides. Just as you’re starting to feel short of breath, you can feel the rumble of the van’s engine again and once more you’re on the move. Your heart seizes; where is Sam? Have they left him behind? Have they… hurt him? His presence at your side was the only thing keeping you sane in this insane situation, and with him gone, you’re not sure how much longer you can last like this before you lose your mind completely.  
There’s nothing to do to pass the time except imagine all of the horrible things that might be happening to Sam right at this very moment, and what feels like hours pass like this, before you fall into a fitful slumber.  
When you wake, the van’s stopped moving again. You wonder where in the world you are. Somewhere in the Middle East, probably. Your cheeks are wet from where you must have cried in your sleep, and you’re incredibly thirsty. Your stomach is beyond empty, but you don’t have much of an appetite. You just want to see Sam. You have no idea how long you’ve been asleep, no way of telling what time it is. It’s all very disorientating, and you’re just getting ready to fall into despair when you hear footsteps outside.  
You hold your breath, sending up a silent prayer to any and all gods you can think of. _Don’t let me die here.  
_ There’s the click of the lock and the back doors of the van swing open one more time. You scrunch your eyes shut in preparation of the harsh light, only to be met with darkness. More time must have passed than you thought. Silhouetted in moonlight is a shadowy figure.

“Where is Sam?” you call out, it’s like a reflex now.

“He’s inside. Come on,” Jackson says, getting into the van to loosen your restraints. He leaves your hands tied behind your back and helps you out of the vehicle and into the muggy night air. You briefly consider running, but that idea quickly shrivels and dies. You know you wouldn’t get far, you’re too weak and dehydrated, and of course you could never leave Sam behind. Plus, two men with guns have accompanied Jackson. You’re on some kind of dirt road, with a few small rundown buildings on either side. The van you were in is parked behind some kind of abandoned looking warehouse, alongside a large truck, a couple Jeeps, and a sleek black Jag that you’re sure Clemens drives around in.

“Where are we?” you ask as Jackson pushes you forwards, towards the warehouse.

“Syria, about to cross the border into Iraq. We’re just waiting on our contact,” he answers easily, and you’re surprised that he’s giving up the information. You decide to use this opportunity to learn as much as you can.

“What is this place?”

“Fuck if I know, Clemens said it’s a safe place for us to wait. There’s some food and water for you, and a room for you to rest in,”

“I’ve _been_ resting,” you say, looking over your shoulder at Jackson, “I want to see Sam,”

“You will, just shut up,” he pushes you again and you have to look forwards so you don’t trip.

There’s a hundred more questions on your tongue, like _how could you do this?_ and _why are you being such a dick?_ but you don’t think you’ll get a satisfactory answer. The warehouse looms closer and your time to grill Jackson comes to an end.  
When you get to the back door of the building, one of the men pushes the door open so that you can go through. The room you find yourself in is cavernous, and lit with many little kerosene lamps. A few tables have been set up, and there’s the distinct smell of a highschool cafeteria in the air. The mercs who aren’t on guard duty are sitting around the tables, eating and drinking. You suppose even killing machines have to refuel sometimes. As you’re led along the tables to the back of the room, some of the men leer at you hungrily, making your skin crawl. You’re an unwashed mess, there’s no way they’re looking at you like that because you’re some ten-out-of-ten stunner. You feel like a piece of meat that’s unwittingly wandered into the midst of a pack of starving wolves.  
When you reach the back of the room, though, you see something that lifts your spirits significantly. It’s Sam. He looks up as you approach, and the look of pure relief on his face must match your own.

“Y/N!” he calls out to you, and tries to stand up from the little table he’s sitting at, only to get caught on a chain. He’s been shackled to the table with enough room to move his hands to eat, but nothing else. You break free of Jackson and run to Sam, only to stand awkwardly in front of him since you can’t move your own hands either. You’re so close but still unable to touch. Now that you’re close enough to see him in the lamplight, you can see he’s got several new bruises on his face and arms. The cut you cleaned on his jaw is split open again, and there’s blood on his shirt. You fall silent as you are ushered to the table and forced into a seat, your arms freed briefly only for you to be fettered to the table just like Sam.

“What happened to you?” you say lowly, as Jackson and his men leave you to it. There’s a man sitting not too far off who it seems has the job of guarding the pair of you, judging by the menacing stare he’s giving you.

“A couple of the guys wanted to thank me for offing some of their comrades,” he says, shrugging it off, “it’s nothing,”

“It doesn’t look like nothing,” you grumble, but your happiness at seeing him again is overriding your concern. You reach across the table, chains rattling as you do so, and slip one of Sam’s hands into yours. His hand is warm and rough. “I’m so glad you’re okay,”

Sam swallows, before squeezing your hand, and then lacing your fingers together. “How are you doing, are you okay?” he’s looking straight into your eyes, and you wish it was just the two of you so that you could kiss him again.

You’re about to reply when a tray of food is slammed down in front of you, with Sam getting the same treatment. Bottles of water are also provided, and you take your hand back from Sam so that you can uncap one immediately and almost drain it in one go. Sam is like your mirror image in this and when you’re both done you laugh sheepishly.

“Ugh, my tongue felt like sandpaper,” Sam pulled a face.

“I’d kill for a shower,” you say glumly, pushing your food around the tray with the plastic spoon. It’s some sort of casserole, not particularly appetising, but not horrendous either.

“Amen to that,” he says, clearly not sharing your reservations about the food judging by his enthusiasm in spooning it into his mouth. He finishes in record time, and catches your eye. “You on a hunger strike or something?”

“I just don’t feel like eating,” you sigh, “do you want mine?”

Surprisingly, he shakes his head. “You should eat, you need to keep your strength up,”

“I’m fine,” you say automatically, not used to being fussed over.

“You’re practically wasting away,” he laughs, “come on, for me?”

Somehow, your face breaks into a smile, “All right, all right, I’ll eat it. Happy?”

A warm smile has spread over Sam’s face too, “I am,”

It’s no steak dinner, but it’s still nice to share a meal with Sam like this.

 

  

** Sam **

****

Sam hurts like _everywhere._ Jackson’s two men, Niles and Thomas, had given him a real working over; apparently they had had to take over guard duty after Sam killed their predecessors and they weren’t too pleased about it. Figures.  
Every now and then Y/N looks up at him with worried eyes, and he has to force a pained smile to put her at ease. It’s not like he’s going to tell her the details of what happened, of course. There’s something else he can’t tell her about, too, he thinks as he grinds his foot against the object in his shoe, checking that it’s still there. There’s an uncertainty in his gut, he doesn’t trust that weasel Jackson one bit, but what choice does he have?  
Y/N’s leaning her elbow on the table, her head in her hand. Her eyes keep drifting shut and then her arm wobbles, waking her up again. It’s adorable, and kind of hilarious. Sam smiles fondly, his resolve unwavering. He knows what he needs to do. It’s the doing it that’s going to be tricky.  
Niles gets up from his chair where he’s been keeping a close eye on Sam and Y/N, and he gestures to another guard. The two goons come over and wordlessly unchain the pair from the table, cuffing their hands behind their backs and frogmarching them from the impromptu mess hall.

“Where are you taking us?” Y/N says, but not with any of the usual fire she conjures. Sam hopes she’s not losing her spark in captivity.

“God, you two never shut up, do you?” Niles gripes, shoving her hard in the back causing her to almost lose her footing.

“Hey, hey! Watch it, asshole!” Sam snaps on instinct, earning himself a kick to the back of his leg, making him crumple down to one knee.

“Will you just get them to the saferoom and stop fucking about?” Jackson appears from around the corner, an unlikely hero.

“Just having a little fun is all,” Niles mumbles, scowling as Jackson continues on his way.

Sam is hauled back to his feet and they carry on down the corridor, the two mercs  grumbling to themselves.

“Thank fuck he’ll be gone before too long,”

“Yeah, between old man Clemens and him, this job has been a pain in the ass,”

“What do you mean he’ll be gone?” Y/N says quietly.

“I thought I told you to shut up,” Niles says, but his partner doesn’t seem to mind clarifying.

“Rumour has it Clemens is getting tired of his fuck ups, so pretty soon it’ll be-“ he mimes a slit throat in the universal signal for ‘killed off quickly and without ceremony’.

Y/N’s face falls, but she says nothing, and finally they arrive outside a huge metal door at the end of the corridor. Niles hauls it open and then Y/N and Sam are pushed inside.

“You two just sit tight in here,” the nameless thug says, as he and Niles push the heavy door closed. There’s the click of the lock and their receding footsteps, and then silence.

The room they’re in is set up like a makeshift break room, with a couple flimsy looking cots against the back wall. There’s a window, but it’s barred, and much too small to fit through. Sam wonders what the hell kind of place this is.

“They’re going to kill Jackson,” Y/N says, sitting on the edge of one of the cots.

Sam goes to sit beside her and she rests her head on his shoulder. This seems to be becoming a common thing for them. “Maybe he was exaggerating,” he says unconvincingly.

She sighs, “I’m still angry at him. So, so angry. I could almost kill him myself, but-“

“I know, darlin’, I know,” he tries to make his voice comforting, for what good it’ll do.

“Isn’t there anything we can do?” she whispers, and goddamn it, there are tears in her eyes.

_Well, fuck. As if I can say no to that. This plan was risky enough, but sure, why not?_

“We’ll just have to take him with us,” Sam says, groaning internally. He was already totally, completely wrapped around her finger, wasn’t he?

“Take him with us where?” she looks up at him, her eyebrows knitted.

“Uh, when we escape, of course,” he says, grinning.


	21. Chapter 21

** You **

For a second you assume he’s joking. But then you think that it would be a pretty cruel joke, and you know he wouldn’t do that to you.

“We’re escaping?” You whisper, “How? _When?”_

He winks at you, the effect slightly less suave due to his remnant black eyes, “Tonight, when everyone’s asleep. We have a couple hours to kill, why don’t you rest up?”

You shake your head, not believing, “I don’t want to rest up. I want to know what the hell’s going on,”

He sighs, toeing off one of his sneakers and sliding off the cot to sit on the floor. After some shuffling around, he manages to fit one of his hands into his shoe, pulling out something that had been hidden within. He clutches in his hand two little, smooth rods of metal. You’re about to ask what they are exactly, when he, still with his hands behind his back, begins picking the lock on his handcuffs. A few tense moments pass, with Sam fidgeting and grunting in concentration, before finally his arms are free.

“Voila!” He says, holding up the open cuffs, “your turn,” he sits beside you once more, and you turn your back to him so he can uncuff you too.

“Where did you get that lockpick?” you ask as he gets to work.

“Uh, actually, Jackson gave it to me,”

Your head whips around, “What?”

Sam has his tongue between his teeth as he focuses on the task at hand. “Yeah, he slipped it to me when his pals were giving be a beatdown,”

“Why would he do that?”

“If I had to guess? He’s feeling guilty. He’s gonna signal us somehow when the guard’s change shifts, that’s our cue to get out of here,”

You sit there quietly, processing it all. Damn right Jackson should be feeling guilty, it’s his fault all of this happened in the first place. You haven’t forgotten the anger, fear, and humiliation of being threatened and robbed in your own home. Of your life’s work being snatched from you like you were toddlers fighting over a Barbie. He’s a long way from being forgiven, but you suppose that helping you escape is a good place to start.

“There you go,” Sam says, gently releasing your wrists from the cuffs.

You turn to him and throw your arms around his neck, now that you finally can, and hug yourself to him. He returns your embrace, wrapping you up in his arms and resting his chin on the top of your head.

“Where will we go?” you say, muffled against his shoulder.

He rubs your back softly, “Jackson’s gonna leave the keys in one of the four-by-fours, then the world’s our oyster, I guess,”

You frown, and pull away so that you can see his face. You don’t like the sound of that. “But we’re still going to Iraq, right?”

He swallows. “Let’s just get out of the compound first, okay?”

You _really_ don’t like the sound of that, but you don’t have the energy to argue right now. You keep your protests to yourself, but release yourself from the hug.

“You’re gonna want to stretch your arms out a little, I have to put the cuffs back on soon,”

“Why?”

“It’d look pretty bad if a guard came to check on us and we’re out of them,” Sam said, rubbing his wrists.

“I guess,” you nod, raising your arms up over your head and stretching your triceps.

“Right, sorry about this, Y/N,” he says, looking sheepish and holding your cuffs up.

You raise an eyebrow at him, “Why do I feel like this isn’t the first time you’ve put a girl in handcuffs?” you say wryly, crossing your arms.

He cracks up laughing, before coughing and looking away for a moment. You’re about to offer your wrists to be shackled again when there’s a commotion outside the door. The footsteps of more than one person wearing heavy boots, and the sound of someone struggling.

“Ow, ow, ow! I _told_ you, I’m on their side!” the familiar whiny voice has got to be Jackson.

You look to Sam in confusion, but he looks just as nonplussed as you are.

“Shut it,” a muffled, female voice answers, “unlock the door. Quickly,”

“No fucking way,” Sam mutters under his breath, then turns to you, “looks like we’re getting out of here a little earlier than planned,”

This only makes you more confused, but you both stand back as the lock on the door begins to rattle. When it swings open, there are two people on the other side. One is none other than your best frenemy Jackson Ramsey, the other is a woman you _know_ you’ve seen before, but you can’t quite place her.

“Nadine Fucking Ross! What the hell are you doing here?” Sam says exuberantly.

“Be quiet, Drake, you want the whole bloody compound to come down on top of us?” Nadine says, motioning to Jackson, “Is this rat with you two or should I end him?”

Jackson just about craps his pants right then and there, and it’s kind of cathartic watching him squirm.

“He’s with us,” you say at last, nodding.

“Right,” she turns around, ready to go, “follow me, I’ve got us a route secured,” she doesn’t wait for anyone to respond before she slips silently down the corridor.

“Come on,” Sam says to you before following after her.

“Are you coming or what?” you say to Jackson, and the two of you make your way along the corridor as quietly as you can.

Nadine Ross. You remember her now. She was with Chloe Frazer at the Indian Museum’s gala, cutting an impressive figure in her sleeveless dress. Her arms were amazing, her biceps almost as big as your head. And now she’s here to rescue you? You’re sure the explanation is going to be riveting, but for now you just want to get away from all the men that want to kill you. Around each corner is an unconscious guard, and it’s hard to believe that Nadine did all of this herself—she must be like a one woman army or something. You follow her and Sam to a side door in the building that’s been propped open with a cinderblock. The four of you slip out of the warehouse and into the sticky night time air.

“Where to?” Sam says quietly, all of you crouching in the shadows of the building, very aware of the men still patrolling outside.

“I left the four-by-four behind that hill to the east,” Nadine says, gesturing to a tree covered hilly area much further away that you’d anticipated.

“Um,” Jackson seems frightened to speak up, “there’s the keys in one of the Jeeps. I stole a weapons crate too,”

“Even better,” Nadine nods, “show me where?”

Jackson points, “If we just follow the wall this way we should be able to hide behind the trucks until we get to the Jeep,”

Sam takes point, “Follow me, you guys,” he whispers.

You stay silent, adding exactly nothing to the conversation and really feeling useless in a way you haven’t since Cyprus. You guess the best you can do is to not balls the escape up, and follow the others as you sneak past the courtyard.

 

****

****

** Sam **

 

Sam’s on a high. They’re escaping! He doesn’t do well cooped up, and he can’t wait to be screaming down a dirt road with Clemens and all his shit bastard grunts far, far behind them. If it wasn’t inappropriate and a Very Bad Idea on so many levels, he could kiss Nadine Ross. To tell the truth, he was a little worried about how he was going to get Y/N out of the compound safely by himself, but with Nadine here he knows they’ve got it in the bag. They shuffle quietly around the corner and into the makeshift parking lot. Jackson whispers which car he prepared, and Sam’s about to slink over and open the driver’s side door when their bubble bursts.

“The prisoners have escaped! Find them!” a shout triggers all of the guards into search and destroy mode, men coming running from the dilapidated buildings around Sam and the others, flashlight beams slicing through the night like the glint of a hundred blades.

Nadine curses and draws her gun, “Everyone, get in that Jeep now!” she hisses.

Sam immediately searches for Y/N, wanting to get her to safety as soon as possible. He reaches for her, and she smiles at him and takes his hand. She doesn’t look frightened. He pulls her over to the car, and she climbs into the driver’s seat, not wasting any time in starting the engine.

“You got this?” Sam says, surprised at her initiative, and ducking under the open door as bullets start flying past.

“Of course,” she says, and Sam wants to kiss her, so he does. He takes her face in his hands and presses his lips firmly to hers just for a second, before slamming the Jeep door shut and jumping into the back where the crate of weapons sits. He hauls it open and instantly his eyes are drawn to a pair of fully-automatic machine pistols.

“Well these are nice,” he says to Nadine as she climbs in beside him. She just rolls her eyes. Jackson gets into the passenger side of the car, and then Y/N punches the gas and the Jeep roars into motion.

“Shit! They’re taking a Jeep!”

“Yeah we are, bitches!” Y/N shouts, and Sam has never been more attracted to her than he is right now.

He doesn’t have much time for swooning, though. “Get your head in the game, Drake!” Nadine yells, firing her gun out into the dark.

“I got it, I got it,” he grins, popping off a few shots of his own to prove it.

The Jeep swerves violently out of the compound, narrowly missing another hail of bullets. A roaring engine revs behind them as Clemens’ men take up the chase in one of the trucks.

“Where the fuck am I going?” Y/N near screams, running out of dirt road to follow.

“Head south!” Nadine calls.

“Okay, but where the fuck is south?”

“Turn right!”

“Right!” sand is kicked up as Y/N makes such a sharp turn you could stab someone with it.

Nadine narrowly avoids being thrown out of the Jeep by holding on for dear life. “Quite a driver we’ve got,” she says dryly, but she’s grinning.

“Yeah, I’m pretty fond of her, myself,” Sam says, and he’s really enjoying the way he barely has to _think_ about squeezing the triggers on his new guns before he’s firing dozens of bullets at his enemies.

Pretty quickly there’s a new road for Y/N to follow, and Nadine continues to shout directions in between bouts of gunfire. If Sam’s got his bearings right, he thinks they’re heading into Jordan. Maybe they can lose their pursuers along the border. As per Nadine’s instruction, they careen off the road and speed through the dirt and sand, getting closer and closer to yet more illegal border crossing.

“Uh, guys? Barbed wire ahead!” Jackson yells, hunkering down in his seat.

He’s not wrong; the impossibly tall chain-link fence looms over them, topped with reels and reels of sharp barbed wire. Sam follows suit, getting as low into the bed of the Jeep as he can.

“Punch it, Y/N!” Nadine cries, before throwing herself down and covering her head with her arms.

“Fuck, okay!” Y/N replies, and then there’s a sickening crash that almost deafens them all, accompanied by the hair-raising screech of metal on metal. They plough through the fence as if it were paper, and right behind them they hear their enemies do the same. What will it take to lose these guys? They weave through giant rocks and spiny shrubs, gaining some ground on the truck behind them as it slows down to navigate through the obstacles.

“Way to go, Y/N! We’re almost in the clear,” Sam says, watching the truck get a little further behind them.

“We’re not safe yet,” Nadine says, “we should head through that river valley, they won’t be able to follow us there, it’s too narrow,”

“Roger that,” Y/N says, steering them between two cliffs, the Jeep bouncing violently over the rocks, and soon they’re so well hidden in the bottom of the canyon that even the moon is having trouble finding them. The Jeep slows to a more comfortable pace to account for the darkness, and the four of them breathe sighs of relief at having survived the ride. “So, now what?” Y/N says.

Now what? Indeed.


	22. Chapter 22

** You **

The village of Safija is quaint and clandestine, sitting quietly and somewhat peacefully in a little nook of northern Jordan, close to the borders of Syria and Iraq. When day breaks, you, Sam, Jackson, and Nadine find the villagers there welcoming and full of hospitality. The four of you are provided with rooms at the local inn, with clean water for bathing and clean clothes for changing into. Nadine does most of the talking, her Arabic surprisingly fluent, with Sam adding a few words in every now and then. You feel painfully divided from them, boring and ordinary in a way that they just aren’t—but you shake the feeling off, who just pulled off the car chase of the century?  
You sit in your room alone, listening to the hustle and bustle going on in the inn below, and out in the street. The day’s just beginning for the people of Safija, and they’re going about their business, unhindered by the thoughts and feelings squirming around in your stomach. You stand and go to the mirror, one of the only items of furniture in the spartanly decorated room, and take in your appearance in the new clothes you’ve been given. You’re wearing some kind of traditional dress you don’t know the name of, a plain black floor-length shift made of soft cotton, with long sleeves and a matching headscarf. It’s comfortable, and surprisingly cool in the summer heat, and privately you think it makes you look quite exotic. You wonder what Sam will think. You wonder what Sam is wearing. You wonder what sort of past he shares with Nadine.  
Your face in the mirror frowns suddenly; quite frankly you’re ashamed how you’re feeling in regards to Nadine Ross. She’s everything you’re not, and everything you’ve been pretending to be during this little adventure of yours. Plus, she knows Sam much better than you do, probably. You can scold yourself and tell yourself how silly you’re being as much as you want but you can’t help it; despite her quite literally saving your life, a sullen jealousy has settled itself in your heart. You want to see Sam.  
You leave your room and creep down the hall until you reach Sam’s door. You knock twice.

“Come in,” he calls out from within.

You open the door to see him sitting quietly by the window, smoking a cigarette. He smiles when he sees you.

“Hey,” he says softly, his eyes crinkling, “you scrub up real nice,”

You straighten out your dress, suddenly a little self-conscious. “So do you,” you say, taking him in. He’s not dressed so dissimilarly from you—in a traditional long black garment with long sleeves, and there’s a cloth headpiece lying unworn at his feet. He looks very handsome.

“Get over here,” he says, and you shut the door behind you and step towards him, sinking down to the floor to sit beside him in the sunshine. For a moment you’re both quiet, a vast difference to how things were just a few hours ago. “I don’t think I’m supposed to be in here,” you say after a while, smiling ruefully. The culture in rural Jordan is quite conservative, as far as you know.

He chuckles and winds the fingers of his free hand around one of yours. “We’ll just pose as a married couple if anyone says anything,” he says.

You smile; you’d half expected him to tell you to leave, and you’re glad to have his permission to stay. You move closer to him and lay your head on his shoulder, listening to his breathing as he smokes his cigarette. Annoyingly, you can’t let yourself enjoy the moment of calm, even though you know it’s sure to be fleeting—there’s something on your mind. “So how do you know Nadine?” you say, aware you’re potentially ruining everything ever.

“We’ve worked together before, tried to kill each other a few times before that,” he says, “why?”

“Is that all?” you ask innocently, but not at all convincingly.

He looks down at you with a bemused expression, “Yeah. Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” you say, looking down and away from his searching eyes.

A laugh rumbles its way through his chest, “Y/N, are you jealous?”

“No!” you say, cringing, “Of course not, I was just curious!”

“Whatever you say, sweetheart,” he says, nodding, “but hypothetically speaking, if you _were_ jealous--”

“Which I’m not,” you squeak, watching as he stubs out his cigarette and turns fully towards you, holding your face in his hand.

“Which you’re not,” he agrees, and he’s looking down at your lips. “But if you were, I’d tell you that you’ve got absolutely nothing to worry about,” and then, not waiting for you to reply, he closes his eyes and he kisses you softly.  
You wrap your arms around his shoulders and return the kiss, adding more insistence, more urgency. He responds in kind and soon you’re a heated tangle of limbs on the floor, breathless and flushed. He pulls away and looks down at you, his eyes sparkling. “This is moving really fast,” he says, like he’s letting you in on a secret, “I totally get it if you want to slow down or—”

“Lock the door,” you whisper, excitement and nervousness dancing together across your ribs. It _is_ moving fast, but you know you’ll never forgive yourself if you don’t let yourself have this.

He gets up and pads over to the door, turning the lock. You move towards the small bed in the corner and remove your headscarf—it’s easier to start with the least scary item of clothing. You look down at the front of your dress and only have time to think _that’s a lot of buttons_ , before Sam is back, standing behind you with his hands moulded to your waist. He glides them forwards across your sternum, before his fingers land on the top buttons holding your clothes together.

“Let me,” he breathes into your ear, his voice warm with want.

So you do.

 

 

****

** Sam **

For once, Sam enjoys the quiet. He has some thinking to do, and it’s easier when he’s not got to put on a smiley face. Y/N lies next to him, dozing, the covers pulled up to her chin like she’d not just shown him everything. He smiles down at her and hopes she can forgive him for what he has to do.  
He slinks out of bed and gathers up his clothes, taking his time with the buttons until he is presentable to the Middle East. He just makes it to the door when Y/N stirs on the bed, rolling over to find him gone.

“Where are you going?” she says when her eyes find him.

“I’m gonna go find us some food,” he says, and the ease with which the lie slips out is just nauseating.

“Great idea,” she smiles, “how far away do you think the nearest McDonalds is?”

He laughs at that despite himself, “I’ll find out for you, just stay put, get comfy. I won’t be long,”

He leaves the room before he can get pulled back in by those bedroom-soft eyes and pillowlike lips, closing the door behind him and setting out on his newest objective: find Nadine Ross. She’s outside a little lean-to next to the inn, cosying up with a camel, of all things. “Don’t those things spit?” he says when he’s within earshot.

She whirls around like she’s been caught with her hand in the cookie jar, and quickly crosses her arms over her chest. “What do you want, Drake?”

“Hey, easy,” he holds his hands up, “I didn’t get a chance to thank you yet, for saving our asses,”

She shrugs, and goes back to petting the camel when it noses her in the back for attention, “You should thank Victor Sullivan, he guilted me into it,”

 _Good old Victor._ “How did either of you know where to find us? Or even that we needed help?”

“Apparently there was a news story about some terrorists captured in Lebanon. Victor recognised you and started calling around. I was en route to Saudi Arabia at the time, so I was closest. You were easy enough to find once I knew what I was looking for—word travels fast about a big convoy of black trucks, and there are only so many places a group that large could hope to cross the border,”

“Impressive,” Sam nods, “what’s in Saudi Arabia?”

She sighs, “A job. High paying, as well. Which you now owe me for, by the way,”

“Sure, let me just call my accountant, move some money around,” he laughs.

“Look,” she faces him again and fixes him with a glare, “I didn’t come all the way out here to join you on your merry adventure. You’re free to do whatever you want,  but you’ve got civilians with you and I’m taking them to safety,”

He looks down at the dusty ground, “For once, I’m actually agreeing with you,”

“What?”

“I know, I know—it’s a real Kodak moment,”

She raises her eyebrows at him, “So are you staying or going?”

“Oh, it’s not me you have to worry about. It’s Y/N. She’s really got her heart set on this one,”

“And you have your heart set on her, is that it?”

He scratches the back of his neck, uncomfortable under the scrutiny, “In any case, it’s got way too dangerous. The only way this ends is with her getting herself killed, and I’ll do anything to stop that, even if I have to break her damn heart, all right?”

She looks at him for a moment, “You’re aware of the irony in all of this, aren’t you?”

He chuckles darkly, “Boy, am I. It doesn’t matter how much of a hypocrite it makes me, this treasure’s gonna kill her, and I am not letting that happen,”

“So what do you want me to do?”

“Just get the Jeep ready, and find Jackson, wherever he’s skulking. The sooner we leave, the better,”

“All right,” she nods, “copy that,”

 

 

 

** You **

You’d had a smile on your face when you found Sam and Nadine in the courtyard, not being able to wait for him to come back before you could see him again. Hearing the tone of their voices, however, had you ducking behind the wall and eavesdropping. The smile was gone now. You feel cold and you feel betrayed. You feel dirty. You can smell Sam’s skin on your own and it repulses you.

_Break my heart, will you?_

You’re fuming. At him, of course, but at yourself as well. You _knew_ something was up; renegade adventurer fuckboys don’t suddenly start behaving themselves when they meet an ordinary plain-Jane like you. When the two of you had been intimate, it had meant something to you, but him? He was probably just willing to take what was being offered, since he knew he wasn’t going to get another chance when he backed out on the job. And after everything you’ve been through together! You’d promised each other that you were going to see this thing through to the end, hadn’t you? And he knows how much this means to you. He knows it’s the only thing that keeps you going. How can he even suggest that you turn back now? You thought you’d finally found someone who understands you, understands why you need this, but you can see now that you were dead wrong.  
You step out from your hiding place just as Sam turns around. For a second, there’s a surprised glimmer of guilt in his eyes, before he pastes on a smile. You don’t do him the same curtesy. He walks across the courtyard towards you and you stand your ground, stony faced.

“Babe,” he says, all charming grin and nonchalance, “I need to talk to you real quick,”

You look up at him, doing your best to keep your lip from quivering. “Don’t,” you say, before any more shit can come out of his mouth, “just don’t,”


	23. Chapter 23

** You **

****

Sam has the good grace to look nervous as you stare him down. “What is it?” he says, but you're sure he already knows.

“I’m not a child,” you say. You’ve said this to him before, but never with such a heavy heart. “I can look after myself.”

“I know you can—”

“Which means I don’t need you to look after me. I certainly don’t need you to make decisions for me, either.”

“Look, Y/N, I just want you to be safe. You can’t possibly be mad at me for that.”

“Of course not. We all want things, Sam. I want to win back the respect of my peers and my extended family. Am I not allowed to do that under your care?”

His face twists into some angry war snarl. “Why are you being like this? You hired me to keep you safe. I’m just doing my job!”

You laugh, the sound bitter even to your own ears. “What about this morning? Was that you just doing your job? No wonder you came so highly recommended!” You realise how loud your voice is and take a moment to gather yourself. You force a smile because you know it will hurt him. “It doesn’t matter, anyway. I’m afraid I’m letting you go.”

He crosses his arms and looks you up and down. The contempt on his face makes your blood boil—how dare he look at you like that when you feel so betrayed. “What do you mean?” he says.

“I mean I’m not your responsibility anymore. You’re fired.”

He laughs like you’re joking but you’re not. This sobers him. “You’re some piece of work, you know that? I’ve been fired from a lot of jobs, princess, but never for doing the job too well.”

Your cheeks burn. “Call it a conflict of interest.”

“Conflict of—are you crazy? If you’re hellbent on going to Iraq, fine. At least let me come with you.”

“If you’re worried about your pay, Mr Drake, you needn’t be. When I find the girdle, I’ll make sure you’re paid in full.”

“Fuck off, Y/N. This isn’t about the money and you know it. It’s you! I want to be with you, wherever that is. And for that to happen you need to be alive.” His eyes are pulling you in close, begging you to reconsider.

His words are touching, but they're not enough. You’re a little too hurt, your pride a little too stung. It feels good to turn him down, and besides, it’s easier than backing away now. “You should go with Nadine,” you say, shutting off your emotions one by one until all that’s left is this cruel calm. You revel in it. “She came all this way, after all. I’ll be fine.”

“I don’t want to go with Nadine. I want to go with you.”

“But _I_ don’t want you to come with me.”

“So that’s it, then? I save your life how many times, and it’s just over like that? After everything we’ve--"

You’ve given all that you’re willing to at this point. “Bye, Sam. Fly safe.” You turn and leave him behind in the courtyard, your shoulders ramrod straight as you try not to let him see that you’re crying. You turn a corner and find yourself in a sheltered alcove on the side of the inn. An old-fashioned water well sits in the corner next to a stone bench.

“Y/N, are you all right?” Jackson says, making you jump a foot in the air.

“Where the hell did you pop up from?” You wipe furiously at your eyes with the backs of your hands, until he hands you a handkerchief. “Thanks,” you mumble.

“I was coming to find you and the others but, uh, I didn’t want to interrupt.” He shrugs and sits on the bench beside the well.

“You mean you were eavesdropping,” you say, sitting beside him.

“Not on purpose. So, about what happened back there—do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Okay. Would it make you feel any better if I started talking about how much of a bastard he is?”

“What? No. He’s not a bastard.” You think it over. “You’re a bastard.”

“You’re right,” he says quietly. “Listen, I’m sorry—”

“Shut up, I don’t care.” The tears have stopped coming and you stand. “I cannot deal with any of that right now; I need to get to Iraq before Clemens does. Are you in or not?”

“What? Me?” He stands too. “You’ll not go with Sam, but you’ll take me?”

You huff and pause in the doorway. “The way I see it is you have just as much to lose as I do. Are you really going to wuss out now and go home, where you’ll be laughed at by every person with a history degree?”

His face grows grim. “All right, fair point. But do you trust me, Y/N? You need to trust me not to betray you in some way, or this just isn't going to work.”

You step out of the doorway and into his personal space. If someone happened by they might think you were about to kiss him. You place a hand on his chest. “I’d like to see you fucking try.” You tell him, and shove him away. As you head back into the inn, you glare at him over your shoulder. “Make whatever preparations you need to and meet me by the Jeep. We’re leaving now.”

He swallows, but nods and disappears around the corner.

You bound up the stairs and go into your room. You gather up your things into a small canvas bag before heading into Sam’s room, where you swipe the compass and map that lie on the table. You take the keys to the Jeep as well, after considering it for a microsecond. You wrap your headscarf around your head and bolt back down the stairs, jogging to the front of the building where you left the Jeep. Nadine’s there, and you skid to a halt. She’s using one of the gas tanks Jackson stole to refuel the vehicle. Before she can turn around and see you, you duck behind a wall and wait for her to leave.  
Just then Jackson comes strolling around the corner, and you grab him and pull him down beside you. You hold a finger to your lips when he opens his mouth. “As soon as she leaves,” you whisper, “we’re taking the Jeep and getting out of here.”

“We’re really just leaving them behind, then?”

You nod. “Before they can do the same to us.”

Nadine’s footsteps crunch in the sand and you chance a look over the wall to see her walking away. Without a word, you motion for Jackson to follow you as you rush over to the Jeep.

“I feel like my stealth skill should level up after that,” he says, climbing into the passenger seat.

You find some aviators in the glove compartment and slip them on. “Shut up, Jackson.”

 

 

 

 

** Sam **

Sam’s furious. He can’t believe he let her walk away like that. A snarky ‘fly safe’ and then strutting off as if she’d won? And where did that leave him? It was either in the lurch or high and dry—he couldn’t decide which.

He figures he’ll let her cool off for a while, god knows he needs to calm down too, and see if she feels like talking like a reasonable adult. What a bitch.

He cringes at himself. She is being a bitch, sure, but he doesn’t like thinking about her like that. Things were a lot easier when he was just trying to ignore how flustered she made him. Sam Drake doesn’t do flustered. He believes a man should be master of himself, should forge ahead no matter what. He’d spent his life ducking and weaving, letting the punches slide off him like warm butter. It was rare that he found himself floored, even rarer that someone other than Nathan put him there. It’s difficult to revel in lovey-dovey feelings though, when the target of his affections is insistent on being harder to love than a raccoon with mange.

Maybe the age gap is too much. Maybe he’s just found the one person on the planet more immature than him. He doesn’t know. The only thing he knows with any certainty right now is that she drives him fucking nuts. He kicks over a mop bucket, which is when Nadine finds him.

“You gonna pick that up?” She says, crossing her arms.

He glares at her before bending down and righting the upended bucket. He lights a cigarette. “We getting out of here, or what?”

“I’m ready whenever you are, I told you that. I’ve refilled the Jeep, but I haven’t been able to track down the weasel man yet.”

“Yeah, he’s a slippery one.” He throws down the cigarette after only a few puffs and stomps on it. “Forget him, all right? Let’s just get directions to the nearest town with electricity and get out of here.”

“What about your lady friend?”

“Forget her, too.”

By the look on her face, she’s about to say something really witty. But she stops. “Do you hear that?” she says, before turning and running full pelt towards the noise.

It’s the sound of a four-by-four’s engine starting, and then there’s the sound of tyres squealing away.

 _Fuck_.

He follows after Nadine, to have his suspicions confirmed. Right where the Jeep had been parked is now empty air.

_No, she wouldn’t._

“Y/N!” He calls out, running back to the inn. He dodges past the kindly innkeeper and clambers up the stairs. “Y/N, are you here? Answer me!” He pokes his head into her room, only to find it empty. He swallows, slowed by his disbelief, and makes his way across the landing to his own room. When he sees how his desk has been picked clean, that’s when he knows. She’s really gone. The keys to the Jeep had been left right there after they—

“Well this is just grand!” Nadine finds him upstairs. “What are we supposed to do now then, eh?”

“Just calm down, we’ll think of something.”

“Nice job convincing her to come with us, by the way.”

He rounds on her. “You know what?” he says, glaring into her eyes.

“What?” She doesn’t move an inch, just raises an eyebrow.

The wind’s taken from his sails all at once. “Nothing,” he says. “Never mind.”

She nods. “There’s no sign of Jackson either, you think they’re working together?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t care.” Oh, it’s a lie. Historically, lying has always been easier than telling the truth. He settles into the embrace of the lie with familiarity. Eventually, it should become something like the truth. “We need to get somewhere where we can contact Sully.”

She knows he’s full of shit, he can tell, but she just shrugs. Then there’s the quirk of a brow, and the beginnings of a smirk, and he knows he’s in for it. “I have an idea,” she says.

“Well? Let’s hear it.”

 

 

“Camels, Ross? Really?” Sam looks the great beast up and down, unsure. “I mean—camels?”

“What’s wrong? I thought you Drakes were supposed to be adventurous.” She catches one by the bridle and starts petting its snout. “I’ll get us a good price, and you can pay me back later, okay?”

He doesn’t think Nathan has ever ridden a camel across the desert. “Okay, fine.” 


	24. Chapter 24

**You**

The warm, sandy wind ruffles your hair. As the four-by-four cruises across the open vastness of the Syrian Desert, you and Jackson are silent. Driving one handed, you rub your forehead with the other hand, as if it were possible to massage away the troubling thoughts on your mind.

“How far until Ar-Rutbah?” Jackson says.

“Not too much longer. Are we still heading east?”

He checks the compass. “Yes. Right on target.”

“Great.”

“God, there’s nothing out here. You’d think there’d be villages, towns, _something_.”

“Ar-Rutbah’s the most isolated town anywhere in Iraq. It’ll be a safe place to spend the night before gunning it to Nippur in the morning.”

“Safe?”

“Clemens won’t be there. I’m not sure how friendly the locals are if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Am I going to die out here?”

The waning light deems it time to pocket your sunglasses. “If you do, it’s on you. _I’m_ going to find that treasure.”

“This hasn’t been about Aphrodite’s fucking girdle for ages. I’ve been preoccupied with staying alive.”

“Self-inflicted,” you mutter. “How did you end up throwing your lot in with someone like Clemens, anyway?”

He groans. “It seemed profitable; things with you were going nowhere fast, the professors thought I was full of shit—he listened and didn’t call me crazy.”

“Offered you money, too.”

“Yeah. It was the best choice, or at least, it looked like it.”

“Bet you loved getting back at me, too—breaking into my home, stealing my stuff.” Your knuckles turn white on the steering wheel. “Threatening me.”

“Hey, don’t pretend things were all sunshine and rainbows before; you’re kind of a bitch to work with, Y/N.”

“And _you’re_ kind of mouthy for someone who could be thrown out of this Jeep in the middle of the desert.”

He puts his hands up, palms open. “Relax, I’ve told you I’m sorry.”

“Fine. Whatever. It’s fine.”

The Jordanian steppes give way to hills and valleys. On a rise directly ahead sits Ar-Rutbah, your destination. You should be there before nightfall.

 

 

“You got ripped off,” Jackson says, taking in your lodgings for the night.

“My Arabic’s not great, all right?” Your bag hits the lone bed with a thump. “And if you so much as fucking breathe on my side of the bed, I swear to god—”

“Jesus, calm down. Handsome jailbird-thieves only, am I right?”

The back of your neck burns. “You don’t know anything about him.”

Jackson flops onto the bed and laughs. “I know enough, Clemens did a background check. So, was it the ten-year stint in prison that attracted you, or the twenty-year age gap?”

“Shut up.”

“Don’t get so upset. You left him behind for a reason, didn’t you?”

You sit on the edge of the bed, facing away from him. “He wanted to give up and go home.” You glance behind you, finding his eyes. “I can’t do that.”

“Can’t or won’t?” he says, eyes narrowing.

Eyes watery, you turn away. “Right now, it’s all the same.”

“Well, if there’s one thing to say it’s that you’re determined. Or stubborn.”

“You don’t understand,” you say, picking at your fingernails, hands in your lap. “The thing’s I’ve been through, the things I’ve done… it can’t be for nothing.”

“What do you mean?” he sits up, leaning closer to you.

“I killed someone. A man.”

He stills. “What?”

“There was a pirate. He was going to kill Sam. I had no choice!” Tears choke your voice and your chest heaves with withheld sobs.

“Oh. I-I’m sorry, Y/N. That must have been awful.”

“Yep.”

“Fuck, what can I say? This has gone to shit. Feels like another life when we were researching all of this in your shitty little apartment.”

“Well here we are,” you try to swallow your tears so that you can speak. “Isn’t this what we wanted?”

He lays against the scratchy sheets. “To be honest, I was picturing an old school excavation site, y’know, with the tents and the guys with the little brushes in the dirt.”

A rancid laugh bubbles up from somewhere down deep. “You’re such a fucking idiot, Jackson.”

“Is that why you wouldn’t go out with me?”

“Don’t fucking bring that up now. Jesus Christ.” The laughter just won’t stop, and your shoulders shake harder than any crying fit.

He joins in, mirth crinkling his eyes. “I mean, just ‘cause you’re into older men and everything—”

“He’s not that old,” you say, hiccoughing and sniffling as you try to get yourself under control again.

“Yeah, I guess. If you’re Mother Teresa,” he says, collapsing into manly giggles.

Bemused, you wait for him to calm down. “I don’t get it.”

“Y’know, she was, like, really old.”

“Oh. Hilarious.” You roll your eyes and lower yourself beside him. “Shut up now then, Robin Williams, and get some sleep.”

“I don’t get it,” he says after a moment.

“You know, he was really funny.”

He snorts and turns over, his back to you, and the conversation is at an end. There’s a violent sting in your stomach when you think about Sam, so of course your mind fixes on him. You miss him. He’s been a stalwart companion since this adventure began, and you’ve not had to be alone with this new version of yourself yet. Jackson doesn’t understand; he wasn’t there.

But, no matter how much you like his smile, or his tattoos, or think his voice is sexy, the fact remains that Sam Drake bailed. He’s dead weight.

That’s what you keep telling yourself. Because the second you stop reminding yourself that you did the right thing, you could lose the tenuous grasp you have on your nerves. Maybe even start to doubt. Was leaving him the right thing to do? Can you do this without him? Should you be doing this at all—what if Sam was right about everything and you were just heading to your death? You’ve looked the afterlife in the eye more than once now, but are you ready to do it again?

By the time you fall asleep your pillow is wet and cold.

 

 

** Sam **

“I have a question,” Nadine says, sparing Sam a glance from atop her fawny camel.

“Have you always been this interested in my personal life?” He raises his eyebrows at her, trying to keep his own mount steady beneath him. He does not like camels at all, and the one they’ve given him seems to be especially grumpy. It likes to mosey from side to side when he wants to go straight, and he gave up trying to make it go faster a half hour ago when the beast simply refused to move altogether. No, camels are not among his favourite animals. Nadine, however, looks to be having a whale of a time, petting the slobbering monstrosity as if it were a lapdog. The more he learns about her, the less he understands.

“No,” she says, “and who said I was going to ask about your personal life?”

“Fine. What is it?”

“Why did you agree to come with me when you so obviously wanted to follow your lady friend?” Her straight face breaks into a grin.

He rolls his eyes. “Gossiping doesn’t become you, you know. Look, she made it quite clear that she didn’t want me around, and say what you want about me, but I am nothing if not a gentleman.”

“Yeah, right. That’s why you’re leaving her to the wolves. Makes perfect sense to me.”

“I’m not—what was I supposed to do? She stole the fucking Jeep, didn’t she?”

She clucks her tongue. “You really care about her, don’t you? This woman you’ve just met.”

He wipes his face with one hand, keeping the other tight-fisted on the reigns. “We’ve been through a lot together, all right? We’ve fought together, bled together—I’ve saved her life and…” he looks down at the saddle. “She saved mine, too.”

“Oh, my god, you’re head over heels smitten. That’s disgusting.”

“It doesn’t matter now. She’s headed to some god-forsaken part of Iraq and we’re headed someplace with a telephone. It’s over.”

She continues to give him sidelong glances for the next few minutes but keeps quiet. Sam doesn’t like it, he can tell she’s just thinking of what to say next. “What do you want me to say, Ross? Of course I’m not happy she left me behind, _of course_ I don’t want her out there with that prick instead of me, but what can I do? That’s what she wants! If there’s one thing I wont do it’s be around someone who clearly fucking hates my guts.”

She opens her mouth.

“And don’t you dare, okay, I’ve grown on you and you know it!”

And snaps it shut again.

“Look, it’s not about what I want, if it were then I’d be with Y/N and she’d be secure enough in herself not to need this damn girdle just so the professors back home will acknowledge her existence.”

“It’s worse than I thought.”

“What?”

“You went and got your heart broken, didn’t you? You love her.”

He starts to laugh and then stops, pulls his face into a sneer and then loses the anger to sustain it. “Don’t be stupid, we’ve just met.”

“I’m not stupid. You _love_ her, you idiot, you just don’t realise.”

He can’t believe he’s having this conversation with Nadine Ross of all people. If only his cantankerous camel would step into some quicksand and he could be swallowed up by the great Syrian desert. “If I love her, why am I travelling as far from her as possible?”

“Because it hurts you too much to have her look at you with all that anger.”

“That was rhetorical, Nadine, Jesus.” The dirt track they’ve been following rolls into more of a dirt _road_. Jackpot. “Although…”

“Yes?”

“We need to get to Sully. Fast. Come on you sack of shit!”

“Excuse me?”

“Not you, this bastard camel. I said come on!” He digs his heels in more to no effect.

“Your movements are too jerky, you’re startling him,” she says, reaching out to fuss the other camel.

“He doesn’t seem very startled to me,” he says, watching as the camel slowly blinks at him.

“Try to be smoother, more confident. He’ll respond better that way.”

Sam doesn’t even know what that means, so he just copies her movements and like magic his camel thunders down the road behind hers. He chuckles to himself, thinking ‘Nadine Ross, camel whisperer.’

 

 

When he sees the rickety old payphone, Sam thinks it must be like seeing an oasis in the desert. He’ll have to ask his brother. He lets Nadine do the talking, and after her brief conversation with the Arabian operator, she hands the phone to him.

“It’s ringing,” she says.

He’s scarcely brought the phone up to his ear when Victor’s angelic voice crackles down the line.

“Hello? Sam, that had goddamn better be you.”

“It’s me, Victor, it’s me. Oh man, is it good to hear your voice.”

“Nadine get to you all right, then? Need me to pick you up? Where are you?”

“Uh, yeah, about that. Listen, I need you to come packing, you understand?”

“Uh oh. You telling me this isn’t an evac?”

“Exactly right. It’s a rescue. I’m gonna hand you over to Nadine now, she’ll give you our coordinates. And hurry, Victor, all right?”

Nadine takes the phone with no preamble, and Sam steadies his nerves with a cigarette. He doesn’t know about love or any of that, but he knows he can’t leave Y/N out there by herself. Worse than by herself, she’s with that good for nothing turncoat Jackson, and the two of them are sure to get into all kinds of trouble. Y/N can say whatever she likes, he’s not going to let her get away from him twice.


	25. Chapter 25

** You **

You wake up sticky with sweat and aching all over, the obnoxious thrum of Jackson’s snoring right in your ear. You reminisce about all the times you took peace and quiet for granted and how you should have appreciated it more before driving your elbow hard into his ribs.

“Time to wake up,” you say, over the whines and grumblings of your bed partner.

“Fuck, what is your problem?” He rubs his side, grimacing.

“Do not get me started.” You peel yourself from the bed and stretch out your protesting muscles, groaning as your bones creak. “We need to get out of here.”

“Yeah, I hear you. Let’s go.”

“Oh, no,” you bar his way out and point to the little bathing area in the corner of the room hidden behind a folding screen. “I am not putting up with your funk for another minute.”

He shrugs and unbuttons his damp shirt. “Whatever you say, o great and powerful leader.”

“I’m gonna kick your ass.”

“Calm down, I’m getting clean, see?” And from behind the screen you can hear the water splashing around in the basin.

“That’s more like it.” You head over to the window to peek between the thin curtains, wishing you could see the Jeep from this room. There’s not much going on outside this early, hopefully you’ll both be able to slip away unnoticed by the other patrons of the inn. You have no idea what sorts of people frequent this run-down establishment, and no desire to find out.

“And voila, I am clean.” He comes out from behind the wooden screen, his long hair fluffy from the towel. “Your turn.”

You snatch the towel from him without a word, ducking behind the screen before removing your sweat stained clothes and rubbing soap into the washcloth. It’s no waterfall shower head, but you do feel a little better by the time you dry off and redress. You dig into your purse for some of the protein bars Jackson stole from the compound and throw one at him. Your fingers brush against the cold metal of the revolver hidden in the bottom of your bag, and you try to let its presence calm you instead of filling you with dread. Jackson fumbles with the protein bar and almost drops it, making you roll your eyes. Sam would have caught it easily.

It’s time to go, and you throw your purse strap over your shoulder and reach for the room’s doorknob, ready to leave this seedy little tavern far behind you. The smell of breakfast being prepared in the kitchen sets your mouth watering, but there’s no time, and so the two of you say goodbye to the scent of freshly baked bread and step out into the open air where you left the Jeep.  
“Crap,” you say when you see what’s waiting for you.

The Jeep is being picked over by three men while another acts as a lookout. He signals his friends when he spots you and Jackson.

“What’s going on here?” you say, hoping one of them speaks English. Your fingers itch for the pistol at the bottom of your canvas bag, but there’s no way you’d get to it in time. You raise both your hands instead in the universal sign for peace.

A man steps forward, taking charge of the little group of raiders. He’s tall, though not as tall as Jackson, and there is a glimmer of gold from his teeth when he speaks. “You’re packing a lot of hardware for a couple of tourists,” he says, and he unhooks a knife from his belt, twirling it between his long fingers.

“You know how it is with us Americans, we’re gun crazy.”

He nods at you, his smile doing little to put you at ease. “And what brings two Americans all the way out here? Oil? Or maybe something far more valuable.”

“I’m sorry, but we’re just sightseeing.” The only good thing about this conversation is that it’s in English, and your wariness makes itself known across your skin in goosebumps.

He shrugs. “I tried doing this the easy way. Take them!” On his command his men rush the two of you, and you’re bound and gagged in the back of the Jeep before you can even think about calling for help. You scream against the cloth gag, muffled and useless, and with teary eyes you realise who you’re screaming for. But it’s no good, Sam’s not here and he can’t hear you.

A man gets into the Jeep with you, and he lays a hot, moist palm against your cheek, pressing your face down so you can’t see what’s going on around you. He murmurs something in your ear, but you can’t understand him, and you lie still and quiet, listening for Jackson.

“Hey, hey, hey, there’s no need to—” he cuts himself off with a scream, and it blows your eyes wide and glassy with fear.

“Tell me why you are here!” It’s the guy with the golden teeth, the leader, and you can only imagine what he’s doing to make Jackson scream like that.

“We’re treasure hunters, headed for the temple in Nippur—" He’s coughing and choking, and then there’s the sound of something heavy falling to the earth like a sack of potatoes. With a thump he’s thrown beside you into the Jeep, and through your tears you try to see if he’s breathing but you can’t tell.

You’re dragged, kicking and screaming into the front seat where the man with the golden teeth waits, his knife slimy with dark blood. When he brings the blade close to your face, you cringe away, but the steel kiss against your cheek stings.

“If you scream I will gut you,” he says, “can you be quiet?”

You nod, and he slices through the cloth gag. You gasp for breath, your throat raw and ragged. “What do you want?” you say, your voice raspy and strange to your ears.

“I want to you to show us this temple in Nippur. If there is any treasure there, you will find it for me. Do we have an arrangement?”

“Yes. Yes, of course.”

“Good. Put her in the back.”

 

 

 

** Sam **

“You’re going to give yourself a collapsed lung at this rate,” Nadine says, sitting beside Sam on the curb.

He sucks harder on his cigarette just to spite her. “Victor needs to hurry the hell up.”

“I’m sure he’s coming as fast as he can. You should calm down.”

“Who, me? I’m as cool as a cucumber. Nope, I am definitely not worrying about that idiot driving across the desert all by herself.”

She smiles. “Are we just pretending that Jackson doesn’t exist now? I don’t think you have anything to worry about, he doesn’t seem like her type.”

“Damn right,” he says, snorting. “But what do I know? I thought she liked me.”

“She likes you, don’t be stupid.”

“What on Earth gives you that idea?”

She sighs. “I’m only going to say this once, Drake. You’re all right.”

He blinks, but she doesn’t continue. “What, that’s it? I’m all right?”

“Still only saying it once.”

“Well shit, the ice queen herself thinks I’m all right. Hug it out?”

“Not on your life,” she says, looking on in derision as he laughs to himself.

“So she likes me, but she doesn’t want to be anywhere near me,” he says once he’s sobered up some. “What is it with you women?”

She clucks her tongue at him. “Don’t tar us all with the same brush. I for one am very forthcoming with what I want and don’t want.”

“Good for you. Doesn’t really help me though.”

“Well, you might want to figure out what you’re supposed to be apologising for before we mount our rescue. Otherwise she might not let us rescue her at all.”

He lets his cigarette hang from his lips as he mulls over what she said. “Thanks, Nadine,” he mumbles.

“What for?”

“Sticking around. I feel a lot better about this whole thing knowing I have you backing me up.”

“Don’t mention it,” she says, and he could swear she looks embarrassed. “Do you hear something?”

There’s a rumbling in the air like an engine—or a propeller. He looks up to the sky, waiting, hopeful.

“Come on, Victor,” he mutters, fingers itching for another cigarette.

Lo-and-behold, a little prop plane flits into view, bobbing and weaving between the clouds and dipping lower and lower towards them. The plane bounces on its wheels as it lands on the little dirt track, and before it comes to a full stop, the hatch swings open, and out jumps someone Sam was not expecting to see.

“Hello, Sam,” says Chloe Frazer, “you too, china.” She winks at Nadine.

“Chloe, you’re here!” Nadine’s grinning from ear to ear and _uh-oh_ Sam knows that look.

“I’m getting the band back together, sweetheart,” Chloe nodded behind her at the plane, “Victor’s on drums.”

“Who’s on drugs?” says the man himself, Victor _Goddamn_ Sullivan, as he too gets out of the plane.

Sam’s chest is puffed up to bursting with newfound hope. “C’mon you guys, we’ve got a damsel to save!”

 

Up in the air, the tension was thick among the Rescue Squad. Sam checked his pistol for the tenth time before he caught Chloe eyeing him with raised eyebrows and he holstered it, opting to fiddle with his lighter instead.

She had a bolt-action rifle strapped across her back and having her hands free didn’t seem to bother her at all. “Relax, yeah? We’ll get her back safe.”

He rolled his shoulders to work some of the tension out, flipping his lighter over in his fingers. “Thanks, but you didn’t have to come all the way out here, you know.”

She shrugged, lacing her fingers together and leaning towards him in her seat. “Like hell didn’t. Victor was running around like a headless chicken, I had to do something to help out.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re here,” Nadine says, nudging her with her shoulder, “it’ll be nice to have someone competent around.”

“Ouch,” he says, before giving them a moment together by going to sit with Victor at the front of the plane. He sighs at the open expanse of desert beneath them, “No sign of them.”

“Not yet, but we’ll find them,” Victor nods.

“Yeah, I know.”

“How did you two get to be split up, anyway? You seemed pretty solid before.”

“Oh, it’s just so fucking stupid. She’s just as stubborn as I am, if you can believe that.”

“I can.”

They share a chuckle between them before Sam goes back to staring out the window. Y/N is down there somewhere probably getting into all kinds of trouble and he can’t stand it. Now he’s had time and space to cool off he’s hoping that absence has made her heart grow fonder too. How embarrassing would it be for them to go through all this trouble just for her to turn her nose up at him again?

No, he’s not going to let that happen. The moment he’s sure she’s safe he’s going to grab her in a headlock and give her the ultimate noogie. Then he’ll kiss her. That should about do it, right? What else is he supposed to do, talk about his feelings with words?

“Land ho!” Victor says, and Sam sees a town rise out of the desert on a hill.

“Don’t call her a hoe, Victor, that’s not nice,” Chloe says, coming between the two of them with a map. “That’s Ar-Rutbah, the last town on the way to Nippur.”

“You want to make a stop? Ask if anyone’s seen her?” Victor says.

“No,” Sam shakes his head. “That’ll just slow us down, we already know where she’s headed.”

“Right you are then, next stop the ancient city of Nippur.”

They fly straight over the town and soon enough it is a spec far behind them.


End file.
